


At Midnight

by bulletandsophia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Found Moments, M/M, Pining, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Sweet/Hot, tender moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-08 04:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13450200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletandsophia/pseuds/bulletandsophia
Summary: Sansa slowly took off her red coat. The chilly air stung so suddenly she felt her skin prickle. She tucked her coat in her arms instead and decided to lean once again on the lamppost. Her breath drew cold air and she saw it white and ghostly as she exhaled.It was only her second day at this kind of work. And it wasn’t getting any better.





	1. In Your Eyes of Mourning

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry I have to delete The Walled City as I am unhappy with the quality of my writing there. Replacing it with this other one instead, also found in my old files but in which I know I can work something out. Thanks all! :)

The old turntable continued to play. The light drizzle of rain already stopped and Sansa tugged her black chiffon dress down. Downstairs, she could hear the jazz music of the coffee shop and Loras’ loud orders to his small kitchen. Sansa crossed her bedroom towards the shoe rack and snatched a black stiletto she had brought from the ancestral house. It was an old pair of shoes from her mother and it was her favorite.

After looking at herself one more time in the mirror, pulling more of her soft red curls to frame her face, she stumbled out of her room and down to the cafe, unhooking her red coat from the door hanger.

As Sansa made her way down the narrow staircase, she can immediately hear the laughter and slight chaos of the cafe. Loras was running around as usual and the buzz just felt so young and vibrant. Most of Loras’ customers were the students from the local college—usually spending late night group sessions or small events for their college clubs. Tonight, there was a poetry open mic night.

Squeezing her way in the crowded cafe, Sansa tapped Loras by the shoulder as he pestered Juan, his only cook, with the orders.

“Three grilled cheeses, a tiramisu, and a buttered croissant. That’s table four, Juan.” Loras exclaimed over the declamation of the poet. Juan only nodded, his mustached face red, trying to keep up with the pressure of a busy night.

“Sounds like you’ve got a Neruda over there.” Sansa said.

Loras turned around to look at her and rolled his eyes. “God, these poetry nights. I cannot stand them but they pay the bills so, _well_.”

“Look,” Sansa breathed. “I have to go. I just want to say good night.”

Loras eyed her from head to toe like he always did and gave her a sad smile. “You know I hate that you have to do this.”

“Oh, come on, Loras.”

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything. You’re my best friend and I just—”

“Let’s not have that conversation again.” Sansa stopped him, “Besides, Renly’s over there waiting for you. Why don’t you think about that?”

With the mention of his boyfriend, Loras lightened up a bit but still frowned at her.

“Pepper spray on the ready?” Loras asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Cellphone charged?”

Sansa nodded.

He sighed. “Well, I’ll see you in the morning then.”

Sansa nodded once more and gave her best friend a hug. “A Colombian coffee for me tomorrow would also be nice.”

Loras chuckled and promised her a mug when she returns. With a final nod and a small wave to Renly, Sansa went on her way on the darkened street of Brick Avenue, wrapping her red coat around her.

 

**

 

It was ten past eleven in the evening and the chill of the autumn night was slightly taking a toll on her. The road still also glistened with rain water and the night felt misty and hazy. Sansa leaned casually on the lamppost, watching as cars drive by. On the pavement, three more girls waited with her, a few paces away from each other. She knew one of them but didn’t bother saying hello, thinking tonight wasn’t the right time.

And then, a sweeping black SUV stopped right in front of the girl sitting on her right. She was wearing short denim skirts, long black boots, and a white halter-top. Feigning disinterest, Sansa inconspicuously glanced at the transaction. Halter-girl stood and waited for the SUV to roll down its window. Once it did, she quickly took a peek inside and smiled, ruffling her long blonde hair seductively. Sansa even pondered that she might have heard a purr. After a few minutes of transaction (or possibly flirting, in this case), halter-girl opened the passenger door and slid inside, prompting the SUV to eventually speed away.

 As she watched the vehicle drove into the street, one of the girls on the sidewalk came up to her.

“Long night, sweetheart?” she asked, puffing out smoke from her cigarette. She had a pixie cut hair and was wearing tight black leggings and an even tighter pink tank top.

Sansa could only nod and smile, feeling suddenly exposed. She tugged on tightly to her coat.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” the woman asked again.

“Not really.” was all Sansa could reply.

“Doesn’t look like it.” she eyed Sansa but anyway shrugged her off, blowing off smoke again. “Well, just make sure to stay on this spot. Over there on that tree is my place. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Sansa nodded. “No problem.”

“And a little advice?” continued the pixie hair as she looked at Sansa’s outfit. “You might wanna get rid of the coat, darling. That one’s not helping you at all.” And with that, she went away.

Sansa felt uneasy. She knew what the girl meant. Compared to the others standing along the sidewalk as she did, she looked as if she was going to a quaint dinner party. She had put on make-up too, sure, but it wasn’t as loud and as the other girls flamboyant ones. The woman was right. She was not going to stand out among the other girls if she was so covered.

So reluctantly, Sansa slowly took off her red coat. The chilly air stung so suddenly she felt her skin prickle. She tucked her coat in her arms instead and decided to lean once again on the lamppost. Her breath drew cold air and she saw it white and ghostly as she exhaled.

It was only her second day at this kind of work. And it wasn’t getting any better.

But at midnight, when Sansa found herself also sitting on the side walk, a flashy silver sports car drove past and slowed down almost at the end of the block. She watched as the girls gathered and ogled. Sansa debated whether she should stand amongst the others, do what they were doing. But as she finally stood, the car screeched once more and reversed. The girls backed away and Sansa stood practically petrified as it stopped right directly in front of her, just as she was dusting off her skirt.

The tinted window rolled down at half. The driver was barely visible but he had a low growl when he asked.

“How much?”

Sansa stuttered. Surprised and not knowing what to do. She looked around and saw the other girls retreating back to their posts and disregarding her, waiting for other cars to stop.

“I asked how much?” the man asked once more.

Sansa forced herself to stand closer to the car. Tugging her coat on her arms, she bent and peeked inside, just like how she’d seen the other women do.

The car has black leather and the dashboard was sleek in black too. As Sansa finally looked up to meet the man who stopped for her, dark eyes met her and if she was not mistaken, some black, curly hair, too. Most of his face was still hidden in the shadows but she could almost see a beard on his jaw and chin.

“Are you deaf?” the man asked rudely as Sansa continued to peek.

“N-no.” replied Sansa, taken aback. “I’m sorry.”

“So?” the man sounded more impatient. “How much do you charge?”

Sansa rummaged her thoughts. She knew this. She researched about this. She had discussed this with Loras even if he had discouraged her to do so.

An hour. She needed to charge per hour.

“Per hour. A hundred for an hour.”

“Get in.” the man ordered, looking back at the road and preparing the car to move.

Hastily, Sansa pulled the car door open and slid inside, gathering her skirt carefully and placing her coat on her lap. Before she could even close the door, they were speeding off.

Sansa tried not to look at the man—her _customer_. The thought of where this transaction was heading tasted foul and bitter in her mouth whenever she reminded herself. But the man was as silent as she was and the smooth roaring of the car had thankfully covered her discomfort. Sansa fidgeted with the hem of her red coat and had absentmindedly chewed on her lip. She looked out the window and tried to calm herself.

They were now speeding past Brick Avenue and after a few blocks, she’d see Loras’ cafe and her apartment.

The anticipation, whether good or bad, Sansa didn’t know, was already gnawing at her. And despite the car’s heater, Sansa felt cold and admittedly—scared. She didn’t know what she was doing and yet here she was in a stranger’s car about to commit something horrendous she might actually vomit. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself but still avoiding to look at the man seated beside her. But from the corner of her eyes she could see his knuckles grasping the gear. He was in a dark suit and that he was wearing expensive cologne. To her consolation, Sansa congratulated herself for nabbing a seemingly rich man for her first try. Every once in a while, he cleared his throat and shifted the gears urging them faster down the road. At that point, Sansa didn’t even know if it was the car’s acceleration that unnerved her or of the oncoming events between her and the driver. But she realized all of that didn’t matter as she felt another wave of nausea coming.

Outside, and fittingly as if weeping with her, the rain started to pour in slowly then heavily, cascading against the immaculate windows of the sports car. Sansa closed her eyes and tried to feel the pitter-patter of the rain as if her palms were outstretched outside facing the skies. And as she felt her lids close, she had a faint glimpse of the marquee board of Loras’ cafe, wanting nothing but to get away from the car and listen to some pretend Neruda.

 

**

 

They parked in a posh street of King's Landing, about a mile away from Brick Avenue. The man hurried to climb down his car and unto the building’s awning while Sansa clumsily gathered her belongings. Just like him, she ran for cover once she got out of the car and was surprised to still find him waiting for her there.

“You ready?” he asked.

And for the first time, Sansa finally had a glimpsed of the man who stopped for her. She was right about the color of his eyes—dark, not bright and light like the day light, but dark and almost ominous. His hair was dark and curly, slightly slicked back and his lips were full and, surprisingly, in a lopsided smile, as if he knew she was studying him. He had a certain aristocratic elegance in him even if he was now blatantly smirking. And despite a faint, rugged look, Sansa knew he was a privileged man. At the back of her thoughts, she wondered of his need for such women like her when he could have anyone he wanted.

But perhaps, that was the point.

“Come on, you’ll be drenched.” he spoke gently now and unexpectedly, he offered his hand. Clearing her throat, Sansa took it and let him lead the way.

The doorman nodded at him and Sansa felt the need to be in her best behavior. This was a world she was not familiar with anymore; chandeliers at the lobby, flower arrangements in a big round table, marble floors, framed artworks. As they reached the elevators, the man pushed the button and still did not let her hand go. Despite the knots in her stomach, Sansa thought she looked decent enough as she stared at her own reflection on the metallic doors. There was a certain relief in knowing that she didn’t look like one of those girls with her on the sidewalk and that perhaps, the doorman didn’t suspect anything at all—that or he was quite used with this man’s nightly rendezvous.

As they finally arrived at his apartment door, Sansa felt like running away. But he already had the apartment door open just when she had finally decided to leave. He urged her in and closed the door behind them.

 

**

 

Jon didn’t plan on bringing home a woman for the night. But the dinner earlier with his parents was still a stomach-churning memory he felt the need to forget about it and especially have a good fuck. But as he stared at this woman he picked up, she didn’t seem like the others who were readily at his side the moment he parked in front of the red-light district. This girl could have been his date during dinner and perhaps the ugly argument with his father wouldn’t even happen.

What surprised him the most though was this woman’s seemingly lack of knowledge in what she was supposed to do for him. They had been sitting in his living room for a solid five minutes—him, staring at her from the leather couch, and she, sitting at the opposite end fumbling about with her fingers. He took a glass of scotch instead, pretended he wanted it but surely it was a mere prop to make him look superior and knowledgeable as to what will transpire during the night even if he hadn’t done this before. And for a while, it crossed his mind that maybe, this woman hadn’t either.

Deciding finally, to Jon’s relief, the woman stood up suddenly and tried to do a striptease. It wasn’t as sexy as he had once imagined someone doing it for him, but she was easy on the eyes so that would do. She was awkward and yet he couldn’t help but gape when the black dress fell on the floor and left her in her black underwear. He could feel himself getting aroused because she was a sight and the dimmed lighting of his apartment didn’t hurt either. She walked closer, towering him, and started to kneel. She started to reach for his belt and Jon scooted closer, thinking this what was supposed to happen. As she removed his pants, he reached behind her to unclasp her bra and tried to slide her panties down and then everything was such in high heat Jon cannot even remember a single thing after it except his impatience as he roughly took her by the elbows and insisted that she straddle him. She didn’t protest except for a tiny whimper and he kissed her neck and then touched her everywhere and he felt another thrill when she placed her hands on his shoulder for leverage. They were moving fast and rough and Jon, while new at this, smiled. He could not get enough of her.

And right now, he was liking every single, dirty moment of it.

 

* * *

 


	2. I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a peculiar request, almost sounding as naïve and innocent as she was in this kind of business. It both terrified and relieved Sansa for she could fall for it, whatever it was he intended for her in this early hour of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one but here we go. :)

She never realized that the moment that it was over was the worst part. And not because she craved the intimacy of it, but the lines were blurred earlier in the heat of the moment and was so easy to disregard. But now, all of it were blatantly rubbing off on her skin.

Sansa felt it creeping up just as she zipped up her dress. And then slowly, it dawned.

She just slept with a stranger.

The apartment was still dark as they rearrange themselves. The cold air was prickling her skin, urging her to search for the red coat but her movement was met with a chuckle from the man who was now standing in the far end of the room, scotch in hand once again. The city lights outside made a silhouette of him but in this view, where she saw him as she sat on the couch, Sansa thought he only looked like those leading men she’d seen from black and white period films.

“I think I threw the coat over there.” he pointed towards the leather seat just across her. But it was empty.

Sansa wished to turn on the lights if she only knew where the switch was. She didn’t want to further intrude and ask him and would rather the man find it in him to switch it on for her. But she can only hear the ice clinking in his glass as he still stood near the window, gazing outside.

As she continued to gather herself, she heard him say, “Won’t you stay?”

Sansa paused just as she retrieved her bag. The cash he offered earlier was already secured deep within its pockets. Sansa thought of the offer, admitting that whatever else can they do except to do it all over again?

“I have to charge you.” she replied.

There was barely any movement except for him shifting his weight from one leg to the other. She saw him shrug.

“I can pay.”

“Again, by the hour?”

“Yes, again by the hour.”

The offer was tempting and Sansa felt her fingers thrum in a certain desperation for that would be another round of cash for her. And yet at the same time, the uneasiness remained for this would be the second time she had to bed this man.

He was gentle on her, at least. And he was quiet except for the few breaths he’d made but for her first try, he was not a bad experience at all. She wondered, would she be lucky enough to only have men like him every night?

“So, will you stay?” he inquired again, now striding the distance between them, drinking the last remaining scotch in his glass. He placed it back on the coffee table that stands between them and then sat on the opposite chair, arms on his knees. He stared at her, or at least that was what Sansa can comprehend in the darkness. It was another picturesque scene, she fathomed. The light coming from the outside created shadows and silhouettes on the wall, on his face; the way his hair fell elegantly, his shoulders hunched and yet confident as he waited for her answer.

“What are we going to do?” Sansa finally asked.

“Nothing, if you don’t want to.” he answered quickly.

It was a peculiar request, almost sounding as naïve and innocent as she was in this kind of business. It both terrified and relieved Sansa for she could fall for it, whatever it was he intended for her in this early hour of the day. The darkness still covered the city and the mystery did not escape her. At this time, everyone else must still be asleep and yet in this building, there was the two of them, wide awake, and almost as if playing a desperate game.

“So what would it be, princess?” his voice gruff.

Sansa fidgeted on her skirt, thinking that he was still a customer and that if he wanted to, she should stay.

 _I could refuse this_ , but she then pondered. Then another thought occurred, _But I don’t want to_.

It was like a stamp. She remembered his kisses on her. He was careful as if she was glass and more than anything else, he handled her with care it never felt like a grip. Always, when he touched her, it was a caress, even in the roughness and the heat of the moment as she straddled atop him.

Was he always this considerate with the others he’d bedded?

But before she can even decide, the man stood from his seat and walked towards her. He offered a hand. Sansa stared at it in surprise. She looked up to see him with that smirk he wore earlier on in front of the apartment building where he also offered assistance to pull her out of the rain.

 _Come on_ , he said then. _You’ll be drenched_.

Hesitantly, Sansa took his hand. Then he pulled her up and they were now facing each other closely. She can quite picture him again in full. The dark eyes, the high cheekbones, the beard, the curly hair.

“You’re pretty.” he whispered, his thumb running against her hand as he said so. Then he tucked her hair behind her ear. “Very, very pretty.”

“I don’t consider compliments as payment, _sir_.” she tried to kid. He laughed.

“No, of course you don’t.” he lightly huffed. “What am I going to do?”

But he was inching closer, still with that smile, and his head angling into that now familiar posture that Sansa angled her head too.

Closer. And closer.

“Tell me, princess.” he murmured. “I’m willing to spend all my money on you.”

There was a thrill Sansa could not explain as his lips finally met hers again. It was slow in its movement, almost as if carving, imprinting; tasting every inch of her that it could reach. And then her whimper returned, his groan can be heard. He ruffled her dress and a hand covered the nape of her neck.

 _Won’t you stay?_ he had asked.

“Yes,” Sansa finally replied, pulling away slightly to heave a breath. “I will stay.”

 

 

**

 

“What’s your name?”

“That would cost you double— _triple_.”

He only chuckled underneath her. “And I said I can pay.”

They moved as one now and Sansa can feel the tremors coming. 

“My name is Alayne.”

He shook his head, holding her hips, pushing and pulling her with the rhythm. “Don’t lie to me. What is your name? Your real name?”

“And I said it’s Alayne.”

“You don’t look like an Alayne.”

“What do I look like?”

“I don’t know.” he heaved. “Something quiet. But strong.”

Then he sat up straight to kiss her again, treading slowly, almost as if he was immersing himself into her. But without warning, he flipped them over so that he was on top again. He moved faster, like the first time they did it on his couch.

On his bed, the creaks only got louder.

“Tell me,” he urged, resting his forehead on hers, gripping the back of her thigh for some leverage; for a form of utter possession. “Tell me your name.”

Sansa felt it coming deeper and deeper she had to hold on to his arms. She whimpered as he continued his pleading. She whimpered as she felt it coming plainly, unabashedly, striking her to her core.

Then in the middle of it all, she finally whispered. “Sansa. My name is Sansa.”

 

 

**

 

She was still asleep when he woke.

 _Sansa_.

Her lips were slightly parted and there was a tint of redness on her cheeks that Jon found absolutely endearing. Desperately, he wanted the scenario to change; that it won’t be the sunrise soon and that she had to leave. For a moment, he allowed himself the freedom of such dreaming. He could pretend that this was some other universe and she did not come from the streets, that last night they came from a nice dinner, watched a couple of movies, kissed by his car, and then ended up on his bed.

He imagined just how it would be to drive around the city with the top down, with her hand in his, the wind blowing past them, some old song playing on the radio, and the rest of the world just a blur as they pass by.

It would be careless, Jon thought. But it would be a blissful one.

Still, something about this woman captivated him. For one, she did not look like she belonged on that district with the others. So Jon can’t help but wonder, what went absolutely wrong with this woman’s life for her to end up like this?

He felt pitiful and then shameful. Never in his life had he probably been that desperate, so who was he to judge? But while looking at her within and out of their moments of pleasure, he can never see it too, that certain desperation. Only, what he can gather was a more unfortunate thing altogether.

 _Loneliness_.

Perhaps, even in her eyes, he can see the many faces of it.

Was she an orphan? Was she utterly broke? Was she deceived? He wanted to know more and greatly, he wanted to fix it for some reason. Lying on her side, he turned to see the smooth of her back and he can’t help but run a finger across it. She moved ever so slightly with his touch but remained asleep. And then another thought occurred in his head and he can’t help but smile. Truthfully, she was also just so beautiful.  

In consolation, or to answer whatever other primal thoughts currently in his head, he’d also want for her to know his name. It felt much more intimate than whatever else they shared in these solitary hours.

“Jon,” he whispered to her, continuing to lightly trace her figure; her back, her waist, gently running through her thick red hair. “My name is Jon.”

He wished for her to wake up and hear him, wished for her to open her eyes and remember what he had just said. But in the corner of his eye, seen there from his bedroom window, the skies had started to change. From the darkness now came the softness of the orange and pink clouds.

Undoubtedly, that was the sun rising. And they have to part.

 

 

* * *

 


	3. The Day's Last Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They found themselves in the bedroom again without saying a word to each other. It was a blur of kisses and tongues and frantic touches as if they cannot get enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! :)

It was the first time she saw him with a cigarette.

The lighter ignited a small brightness in the darkened bedroom as he started a stick. He inhaled a lungful and puffed it out, letting the smoke spiral around him as he sits on the bed, leaning against the wooden headboard and blanket up against his waist. She was untangling her hair, on the other hand, at the foot of the bed with a portion of the same blanket hastily wrapped around her torso. The aftermath of their lovemaking still slowly creeping within her body; the muscles that tingled, sweat that formed, words trapped in her throat as she tried to keep herself composed might he actually think of how much she enjoyed him.

Sansa did not expect to see the man again. Only, his car was already waiting for her when she arrived at the district earlier. A couple of the girls fawned over it but it screeched loudly and drove in reverse the moment she was in view.

“Get in.” was all he asked of her again. And it would be a lie to say that she was not happy to see him.

Their first night together cannot be summarized as mere uneventful for Sansa felt that certain tug within her when he had asked her to stay. She had hoped that morning for one thing as Loras handed her the promised mug of coffee.

“I wish I knew his name.” she said then as they sat at the coffee shop. Loras cannot help the grin.

“Then it was a lucky night for you, dearest, if that’s the way you think of it.” he teased. He raised his own mug of coffee. “Let’s toast to another lucky night?”

But at first, Sansa had disregarded Loras’ cheerfulness for that hope can only leave an imprint in her mind and she won’t be able to focus for the rest of the day. Up until _he_ showed up at the district again, Sansa was already dreading it, feeling the longing and wishing of having someone as gentle again.

Hair now all untangled, Sansa turned to view him. This man, almost like her savior. He puffed another smoke and this time, it surrounded the distance in between them. She can feel it again too, the curiosity, but held her tongue, realizing she might not be in the position to ask.

But in her mind, she had named him Andrew.

Andrew had the habit of looking outside his window, always as if contemplating. And he didn’t like the brightness too. Tonight, she barely had the glimpse of him in the well-lighted lobby, feeling quite insecure that she kept her head down, hoping instead to look at his face in the privacy of his apartment. But as they got in, Andrew immediately took her by the waist and kissed her fully, not even turning the lights on. They found themselves in the bedroom again without saying a word to each other. It was a blur of kisses and tongues and frantic touches as if they cannot get enough.

_Sansa can’t get enough_.

Clothes were easily disregarded and the blanket tossed aside as he pushed her back onto the bed and began to consume her. Sansa would not lie that there may have been a few loud whimpers from her end and then of his quiet and very much pleased laughter, hearing how much she was enjoying all of his attention. After another heavy one, where limbs had entangled, breaths had been stolen, and blissful sounds had been uttered, they only lay panting—until Andrew sat up to pick up a cigarette from his side table.

“Hey,” she heard him now. “You’re quiet.” he puffed another. “Where you’ve been?”

She took another glance. “Nowhere.”

He laughed. “You better. I don’t want to look like a poor, boring host.”

In what she can decipher, there was a grin on his face that made him look even more handsome. Not in the car ride, not when they crossed the lobby, but here. He looked very handsome here. Sansa was not sure if it was the afterglow of their coupling but there was a tenderness to him at this moment when he looked at her. Instantly, she felt shy again. Sansa turned away.

She was also fully aware that the cash had not been handed yet. Despite it, she did not feel one bit bothered in the prospect of staying again much longer, just like the previous night. It would only feel terrible for her if she knew he already had a special someone waiting for him, perhaps, in the suburbs with their three, four—five children. But with what she can detect now, with the plainness of his apartment, the confident way he handles himself, and the fact that he did not make her leave as soon as they were finished, there was no one else. There was no one else he was hiding this from.

She hoped.

“So,” he said behind her. “What do you want to do?”

Sansa shrugged and returned to her hair, trying her might to keep herself busy. She felt the movement on the bed and while she did not expect it, when his arms wrapped around her waist and she now sat in between his legs, there was that thrill again, humming deep within her she had to take a breath.

She felt his lips on the crook of her neck. Then, he whispered her name.

_Sansa_.

She’d never heard it being uttered this way—so ardently, so consuming, as if the word itself is encompassing; heavenly, smooth and soft like the clouds, as it left his lips.

“Stay.” he requested again, his lips traversing the curved path of shoulder and neck, then to the other side. His grip tightening on her and Sansa felt it, her surrender, of her head resting on his shoulder, of her angling to make more room, of her hand that reached up to run against his hair. Then she looked at him as they slightly part. His eyes were dark and his lips were full. If she could paint him, she would paint him now.

She remembered her art materials back at her own apartment and of the easel she can use once her class resumes the following week. She had been looking forward to it, to that teaching gig, for she loved teaching the kids basic painting. Having that job also meant she’d no longer have to do _this_ job every day. Still, earning more would not hurt, as she had been carefully reminded by Aunt Lysa this morning. She said her responsibilities to Bran and Rickon were piling up. She barely also understood a word her aunt said when she asked how her siblings were doing before the line abruptly cut. Purposefully.

Sansa pushed a stray curly hair away from his face, trying so much to forget those thoughts. As she did, his head moved to follow her hand, wanting more of her touch.

“You’re lovely.” was all he said and then smiled.

Not leaving her sight on him, she can only also whisper the truth, “You’re lovely, too.”

Sansa was not sure if it was a growl or a tremor, but the sound came out from Andrew’s chest as he kissed her again, and again, and again. He pulled her closer and she was only able to finally feel the whole of him. Of how ready he was again, of how she was too. They were skin on skin, almost breathing as one entire being. Tonight, yet again, there was nothing else but them that remained in the darkness.

 

**

 

Jon woke up to a still darkened room and a growling stomach. Sansa was asleep on his side and he was more than tempted to steal another kiss. But he reprimanded himself, knowing how much he had tired them both earlier on.

_Let the girl sleep, for god’s sake_.

Gently, he moved from the bed and retrieved his boxer short from somewhere in the bedroom, almost tripping on her dress that was also hastily disregarded. He searched for his pants, finding it dangling on the floor lamp and took out his wallet. He had wanted to get some cash and tuck it inside her bag, but just the prospect of it, left a sour note in his head that Jon stopped in his pace. There it was, dangling above him again. That slight hope and wish that this was a circumstance that he did not need to pay her—and not because he can’t afford it, but because he didn’t want to make it seem like what it really was.

A good, expensive fuck.

She seemed worthy of all the money in the world and yet he didn’t want to make it so. He didn’t want to make her that shallow. He turned to view her again, still sleeping, and Jon can’t help the wonder to return—then of a certain urge to protect her crawled so instantaneously that just the thought of another man paying her, _having her_ , made his blood boil.

What was this woman doing to him?

Heaving a deep breath, he nonetheless took some notes out and tucked it in her bag. She would be using this money for something important, he gathered. He realized too that this certain attraction and attachment to someone like her cannot be good. But even in that thought, he’d wanted to punch himself.

On the bedside table, he picked up his mobile phone only to see several messages from his father and his secretary, Samwell Tarly. He found out of his several appointments later in the day and that he had forgotten to attend one yesterday, to his father’s dismay. He had wanted to reply to the messages but shut the phone off instead.

_Rhaegar Targaryen can do whatever he wants with that goddamn company_ , he thought to himself.

It was only just a pitiful scenario for Jon ever since Aegon had gone astray and Rhaenys was off to marry a Dayne. So now he, the youngest one, was the only one left for their father to torture and pass on the business. He didn’t like the mere prospect of this inheritance.

In the kitchen, Jon pried for something to eat, finding that he only had eggs he can work around with. He wasn’t the most fabulous cook but how hard can cooking eggs be? He started on the stove, placed some butter on the pan and waited for the thing to heat up. He’d beaten just enough eggs for him and Sansa but he turned the coffee maker on too, anticipating that she might be waking up any time soon and coffee might just be what they both need after _everything_.

Jon can’t help a smile as he thought of it. And just as he was pouring out his egg mixture, he heard her.

“Hello?”

Jon turned to the still dark living area where she stood, the orange lights from the kitchen counter illuminating her red hair to something golden. She was only wearing his shirt and he didn’t know if he had seen anything much more arresting. Her legs were endless white, her hair in a certain, tempting disarray, and her lips—her lips were puffy after all the kissing they made.

She was perfect.

“I hope you’re hungry.” was all he said.

But she only paused in her tracks, a questioning look on her face.

“Why are you doing this?” she had asked when she neared the counter.

Jon can only shrug. “I’m hungry. And it doesn’t hurt to be nice.”

She studied him for a while and he was more than thankful for the darkness for he felt his cheeks reddening with her stare. After a few more moments,

“I should go.” she whispered.

Jon was quick to argue, lifting the pan from the stove. “No, come. Eat with me.” he poured the contents to two plates. “Don’t waste the food, princess.” he kidded.

He placed them in front of her and then grabbed some mugs for the coffee.

“Sugar and cream?”

Sansa nodded, sitting finally at the stool. He pushed the mug towards her before settling on his own seat.

She was looking down on her plate and Jon wanted her not to do so, wanting nothing more but to see those eyes which he had deciphered to be the bluest pair he had ever seen. The gnawing feeling told him not to push it, for this was a boundary he was unsure she was willing to take.

For despite their lovemaking, they had not actually had any decent conversation yet.

And Jon, feeling the slight thrill of it, wanted to change that status immediately.

“I am curious.” he enquired almost too happily, grabbing a fork for them both. “You haven’t even asked for my name yet.”

Her cheeks reddened but challenged him, “I didn’t know I was privy to that.”

He smiled cheekily at her bravado. Jon did not expect that response at all but he definitely liked it. He had a fighter with him. So, he indulged her and shrugged. “ _Just ask_.”

There was an adorable frown on her face that he almost laughed. Then after a moment of contemplation, “What’s your name?”

Readily, he dropped his fork to offer a hand. “Jon. My name is Jon.”

“You don’t look like a Jon.” she echoed him, earning another smile.

“What do I look like?”

She pursed her lips. “You’re more of an Andrew.”

He laughed again. Wherever else did that come from? But she shook his hand nonetheless.

“Hello, Jon.” 

“Hello, Sansa.”

He looked at her as their hands let go, curious and intrigued about that timid smile she suddenly had on her face. It was a picture he’d want to see again. And again, and again. As the slight awkwardness lifted, Jon turned back to his food, liking this new progress minute by minute. This was a line they had already crossed.

She knew of his name and he felt himself foolishly grinning.

Then, they ate.

 

 

 

* * *

 


	4. Love and Pain and Work Should All Sleep Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He laughed again. “I have a great stamina.”
> 
> “Hm.” she teased. “I’d like to say I can tell but that would only boost your already huge ego.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! :)

She rested on her stomach, arms tucked in as they lay side by side on the bed.

It was her fourth night at the district and her third night with him.

With Jon.

She felt giddy knowing his name, like another layer had been peeled off of him, making him even more real—more than what he seemed to be during the early morning they spent in the kitchen eating the eggs he cooked.

Peculiarly, it was as if too that they made an unspoken agreement wherein he will show up exactly at quarter to midnight to pick her up at her spot. Tonight, no words were exchanged yet again as she climbed the car and to his apartment. The building’s doorman also still seemed to have that friendly greeting as they walked in, possibly already used with their circumstance—possibly thinking that she was his girlfriend of some sort. Sansa wanted to clarify it, at least with Jon, but words were still absent as they crawl unto the bed and kissed. And kissed and kissed. And then they removed each other’s clothing, made love slowly and then, _urgently_.

It wore her off, truly, but in a very pleasant way and now, after their indulgence, Sansa took pleasure in simply gazing at his figure in the dark. He was leaning against the headboard again, nursing another stick of cigarette. Then a question stole her calm.

“Why do I always just see you in black?” she pondered.

After puffing out a smoke, he replied. “It’s my favorite color.”

“With all the colors to choose from, you chose the most boring one?”

He glances at her and nonchalantly, ran his hand through her hair. “I’ll have you know, princess, black is not boring.”

Sansa rolled her eyes but felt herself scooting closer. He chuckled.

“How is it not boring?”

“Because black can be both formal and dangerous, quiet and yet bold. It can show indifference and yet, it can also take a stand. Totally un-boring, if you ask me.”

“Is that a word, un-boring?”

“It’s mine and I say yes.”

Sansa laughed. “You’re quite funny, Mr. Jon.”

He almost guffawed. “Please, if you’d want me to feel like a seventy-year-old, go ahead and keep calling me that.”

“ _Mr. Jon_.”

He only shook his head in exasperation. Then, “What about you, _Ms. Sansa_ , what’s your favorite color?”

She thought about it for there were a lot. She can see it now, in her paint canisters, in her canvasses, in the paint stains on her clothes.

“Blue.” she said finally. “I like blue. All the shades of it.”

“ _Greedy_.”

“It’s just so difficult to choose which one exactly. Sometimes I’m in love with the blue of the sky, sometimes I like the blue of the ocean.”

She rested on her elbows. “Then there is just the regular blue and the light blue. Then the navy blue and that sort that almost looks like teal. I also like that one.”

Jon laughed, caressing her cheek. “Fine. You like blue. Any blue.”

“What about food, what’s your favorite food?”

“Are we seriously doing this?”

“What else can we do in the middle of the night?”

“I know of some _other_ _things_.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Are you tired?”

“Aren’t you?”

He laughed again. “I have a great stamina.”

“Hm.” she teased. “I’d like to say I can tell but that would only boost your already huge ego.”

“Ouch, Ms. Sansa.” putting his hand on his heart.

Sansa rested back on her stomach, laughing. “Me and my three hundred cats apologize.”

“Oh please,” then he said almost so seriously. “I’d doubt if you ever become a spinster. Besides, I don’t see you as a cat lady.”

“Really, huh?”

“Really. I could just picture you now walking a great white husky in the park.”

Sansa smiled. “I always wanted to have a dog. If I’d have one, I’ll name her Lady.”

“Why Lady?”

“Because she would be prim and proper and she will be very well-trained.”

“You’ll train her?”

“I will try.”

Jon lighted another cigarette. She watched as he puffed out the smoke. He looked down on her, and from what she can gather in the dark, he raised an eyebrow.

“Does it bother you, the smoking?”

Sansa shook her head. “Not really.”

“But it does, doesn’t it? A little bit?”

“Yes, a little bit. I don’t like how it smells.”

Jon chuckled, inhaling another. He exhaled and Sansa made a point to cover her mouth and nose.

“Stop it.” said Jon, pulling her hand away from her face. Then he went to caress her cheeks again; then down to her neck, to her shoulders, down under her chest.

Sansa heaved a breath. Jon smiled before taking his hand away.

“I have a charity event a couple of days from now.” he announced. “Do you want to come with me?”

Timidly, she looked up at him. “Are you asking me out on a date, Jon?”

He shrugged. “Date, dinner, brunch, charity, what’s the difference?”

“All of it. All of it are different.”

“Not when you say yes.”

She wanted to ask: why me? Why not someone else? Why just some girl from the street? But Sansa kept the words to herself, enjoying this daydream, allowing herself to bask in the loveliness of it; of being asked out.

“So, you’ll be in your tuxedo and I would be in a dress?”

“Yes, that’s how it normally goes with these things.”

Sansa pretended that she didn’t know.

“What do you think of a navy blue dress?” she inquired instead.

“So, is that a yes?”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Jon?” she asked again.

He laughed but responded nonetheless. “ _Yes_.”

Delighted, Sansa pulled herself up to reach him, giving him a quick kiss. “Then I’m saying yes too.”

 

**

 

She woke up first today.

The sun was barely there but just enough to light the room in that quiet, timid sort of way. There was no bustling outside, no sign of any disturbance yet, and perhaps, this was Sansa’s favorite time of the day. She looked to her side only to see Jon still asleep, looking like a little boy. He had a very nice side profile, she decided now and she was tempted to trace his face but stopped herself, not wanting to wake him up. She basked in the silence instead and in that certain gentleness of her surroundings. Looking up to his ceiling, and for the longest time, Sansa felt everything was just right again; that there was nothing to worry about, that her problems remain at the threshold of Jon’s apartment and it will only come back to haunt her once she crossed it.

In this room, in this moment, she felt safe.

There were no bills to pay, no Aunt Lysa or Uncle Petyr to worry about, no district women that taunt her, generally, no more of the ridiculousness of her life. In this quietness, Bran and Rickon were also just in the other room, still sleeping. And later, the three of them will grab some breakfast at a diner and order the fattiest and the greasiest meal available. She pictured Jon to be there too, laughing at whatever antics her brothers were doing. The thought of them made her chest ache.

Pulling herself up gently from the bed, Sansa looked for her dress, finding it hastily thrown on a chair along with her coat. Zipping herself up, she glanced back to see Jon still sleeping and decided if she should wake him up. The cash was already safely tucked inside her pocket that she realized there wasn’t any other reason to do so except that she desperately wanted it. Just so he knew that she will be leaving, that perhaps, he’d ask her to stay again.

But that was far too intrusive, far too reaching, and far too good to happen again. Besides, weren’t they already going on a date in a couple of days? Perhaps, leaving him with his dreams was enough for now. Still, Sansa wanted to say goodbye. So to compensate, she lightly kissed him on the cheek instead and then whispered another truth, “See you later, Jon.”

 

**

 

There was a deep annoyance waking up only to find Sansa already gone.

When before he welcomed the coolness of his sheets, today, he abhorred it. She could’ve at least woken him up but he wasn’t foolish enough not to realize her movements earlier on despite the heaviness of his eye lids. He tried to deny it too, her soft kiss on his cheek, lest it lead him to a path he cannot traverse. But he won’t pretend that it didn’t please him. The door was already closed when he woke up to his senses and it would be far too dramatic to run after her only so he could say goodbye. But true enough, even in her absence, he woke up with this other primal need that he would definitely be having a long cold shower later.

At the bedside table, Jon grabbed his phone to check for any messages, seeing one from Sam.

_My wife’s sister is available for the charity ball, do you want to confirm?_

But Jon only smiled, hastily replying that there won’t be any need for Gilly’s sister.

 _I already have a date_ , was all he replied, skipping other messages related to work and any that came from his father. He knew he’d still be hearing from Rhaegar Targaryen soon enough, if not via a phone call, then definitely in person. But Jon decided to take the beating when he was already at the office. This bedroom was still his safe place.

Moving up, Jon pulled his boxer shorts and walked to the bathroom. He splashed some cold water on his face to fully wake him up but he can’t help the smile as he looked at his reflection on the mirror, seeing the redness of his chest and his shoulders, knowing how these came from Sansa’s tight grips and scratches.

He foolishly grinned again.

Truly, it had been a while since he felt this way.

She kissed him on the cheek before she left, that he pondered on again and again. And knowing gladly, she stole that kiss. And so maybe later, he can be the one to steal one—or a couple—from her. One on her cheek, one on her forehead, one or two on her neck, and then endlessly on her lips. Jon groaned as he imagined her soft skin on his lips. It crossed his mind for a couple of times now, of what it would be like to see Sansa out of this nightly rendezvous. Will she still be as lovely in the morning and in the afternoon sun as she was at night?

Jon felt a clench on his chest for he was so desperate to know. But until then, he knew it was going to be a long day before it is midnight and he can finally see her again.  

 

 

* * *

 


	5. Woman with Sweet Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far too different, far too distant. Even if she couldn’t keep herself away, always thinking to herself, why was it not midnight yet? It seemed to feel that it cannot be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. :)

 

The morning sun came quickly and warmly. Sansa stretched on her bed, feeling slightly joyous, remembering what had transpired just the night before—no, just _hours_ ago.

Jon.

His name is sweet on her lips. 

 _Jon_. 

Opening her eyes, she looked up at her ceiling and smiled. On any other day, she would’ve woken up grumpy and hungry but today was not that day. It was as if she could still feel him on her skin; all the traces he’d made, all the kisses, all the caressing, everything was still deep within.

She was grateful to the crawling sunlight and of that certain softness it placed the entire bedroom. Her walls were white-washed with several photographs displayed and a drawer pushed to the side. Above it were more photos of friends from before and of the Stark clan, all smiles, as they stood in front of the manor up north. Sansa placed it there purposefully so that every morning, the photo of her family would be one of the first she sees.

Stretching, she finally pulled herself up and peeked at the window, seeing the already hustling and bustling city down below and of the charming ruckus and racket at the coffee shop; Loras’ voice so audible from the crowd. 

Sansa took a deep breath, the air around smelling faintly of coffee and croissant. Then, she smiled. For needless to say, it felt as if it was going to be a very good day.

 

**

“Thank you for doing this, Jon.”

“It’s no problem, Sam.”

“I told Gilly I’d take the car to the shop later today.”

They were driving on Jon’s SUV across town. He got a call from his secretary, Samwell Tarly, who was almost pleading if he could borrow one of his cars for the day to drop off his son at his summer art class. And Jon, feeling light and weirdly bubbly this morning, was only more than ready to drive his two favorite persons in the world to their destination. 

Sam may be his secretary, but he was also one of his truest and trusted friends. 

“You’ve got a two p.m. with Riverrun Soaps.” Sam announced. “They are planning on a new campaign for their baby line.”

“Edmure still taking on the lead?” asked Jon.

“I believe so.”

“I didn’t know he had it in him.”

“Well, ever since the accident of his sister, it never felt as if he could recover but alas. Here we are.”

Jon hummed. At his rearview, he winked at Sammy who was strapped happily in his car seat. 

“You alright there, pal?” said Jon. 

“Yes!” the little boy giggled. 

“He’s very excited about this workshop.” Sam added, sounding as excited. “We were first planning on enrolling him to camp instead but he’s showing proficiency in the arts that we decided perhaps an art class would do.”

The location is at the hippie part of town where Jon knows local artists reside. Somewhere along Brick Avenue and Central Station—where he _usually_ was during the night. He took a sideway glance at Sam, thinking, his secretary didn’t need to know that. But as he pondered on his nightly rendezvous, Jon can’t help but think of her too.

Of Sansa. 

Of her red hair. Of her laughter. 

Of how she said yes to the charity ball. 

Then a stupid smile was plastered on his face again. 

“The map says the studio’s just beside Highgarden Café.” Sam mentioned. “You can grab something to eat first if you like.” 

Jon just nodded, still somewhat distracted, feeling the thrill on his fingertips, regretful how it was still so early in the morning when he already wanted it to be in the middle of the night. 

“Just take a turn over here,” said Sam. Jon did so. “And, there. Do you see the signage? And there’s just the cafe.”

Jon saw the all-black façade of the café and maneuvered his way to park. Beside it is a small glass studio with some easel on display. Parents and children were all coming in and out.

“It will just be a minute.” Sam promised, unbuckling his seat belt.

“Take your time, Sam.” Jon assured him, then looking back at the rearview mirror, “Make sure you have a good day, Sammy.” 

“Yes, Uncle Jon.” Sammy waved his little hand as Sam helped him out of his seat and then down the SUV.

As Jon climbed down himself, locking the vehicle’s doors almost absentmindedly—and quickly waving another goodbye to Sammy—he pushed the café door open, welcoming the warm scent of coffee, pastry, and bread.

 

**

 

Sansa sat in front of her vanity as she braided her hair to one side. She had a few more minutes before her art class officially start. Jeyne was downstairs, as she texted earlier on, and was already gathering up the children.

They have several kids enrolled and Sansa was beyond excited to meet them all. She chose to wear a simple navy blue patterned dress which she will pair later on with a beige linen apron from the art shop as they begin the class. For today, she thought of teaching the kids how to mix paint properly.

Smiling, Sansa can already imagine the (endearing) mess they would all make.

And then, she cannot wait. And if only she could share this joy with Bran and Rickon, it would have been just the most perfect day.

 

 

**

The bell on the café’s door rang as he entered.

“Hello, handsome.” a barista called Loras told Jon as he came up to the counter. “What can I get you?”

He can only smile at the greeting. “Two black coffee, please.”

“You got it.”

“Thank you.”

“My, a polite one with a lovely face.” the barista teased as he prepared the cups. 

Jon felt his cheek redden but smiled again nonetheless. He was also tempted to order pastries but thought of how he would make a mess of it and would ruin his clean black suit. He decided, he’d just come back some other time—and perhaps that next time would be with Sansa. His mind pictured it all again so clearly, like it always did in the middle of the night.

Still he kept the wonder close to his heart.

What would it feel like to be with her during the day?

Did she like croissants? Lemon bars? Egg sandwiches? Jon knew she took her coffee with sugar and cream and yet, he can’t help but feel wanting to know more. If only there was a way to see her again, _now_ , he would do whatever it takes to make that happen.

“We’d have it ready in a jiff, darling.” Loras said as he handed the notes. Jon nodded and sat in one of the tables opposite the counter, imagining she could’ve been here sitting with him too. Truly, and rather, what would he _not_ do to get her here this instant? He pulled out his phone to check his messages instead, to bury the certain disappointment, finally reading some of which that came from Rhaegar Targaryen and Jon felt the need to roll his eyes.

 _I heard of a meeting with the Edmure Tully. I hope you do well_ , read one of the messages. 

Then,

 _Have you thought of who to bring to the charity ball? Mrs. Dayne is more than happy to remind us last night that her daughter is still available_.

That one, he couldn’t ignore. Jon hastily made a reply and huffed, wanting nothing but to tell his father to back off in his personal life. Besides, he’d rather go stag than be seen with another Dayne. Wasn’t Rhaenys’ connection to that family enough?

Running his hand on his face, he scrolled his other messages, trying to look busy when suddenly he realized, with some remorse and regret, why hadn’t he ever asked for Sansa’s number in the first place?

 

 

**

 

After looking at herself one last time in the mirror, Sansa decided that she was decent enough. She picked up her bag and then out of her room and then down for a quick cup of coffee at Highgarden. Perhaps, she can say another ‘thank you’ to Loras too. It was because of him that she got this job in the first place, being neighbor to the studio and all. 

The coffee shop’s bell rang as she entered and Loras welcomed her with a wide grin. 

“Someone yummy in my twelve o’clock.” he whispered as he handed a complimentary cup. Sansa turned to the man, his back facing them, curly hair cascading just at the shoulder and he was hunched, busy with something, perhaps with his book or his cellphone. There was a sudden hitch in her throat, like in panic, for the figure was so oddly familiar; like having a glimpse of last night—of how she ran her hands through those locks and possibly, _tugged_.

But that was impossible. 

And yet, Sansa can’t help but fantasize. The man would turn and reveal _his_ handsome face. He would look disbelievingly at her, at this moment, for hadn’t they only see each other when the night was at its darkest and most incomprehensible? But they were both here, just a few feet away, with the sun so high up above the sky it was glowing. Then, he would walk towards her, run his hand through his hair again and would smile sheepishly, shyly, almost embarrassed for what were the odds? 

He would say a small ‘hello’ and her breath would instantly be taken; the cup of coffee also threatening to fall from her grip. She’d say something too—something sweet, something in a whisper, something only he could hear.

Jon.

 _Her Jon_. 

How sweet and wonderful would that be, to see him during the day? 

But Sansa shook the thoughts away. For he wasn’t truly hers, was he? Not really. Not even remotely.

He was heaven, and heck, she was hell.

Far too different, far too distant. Even if she couldn’t keep herself away, always thinking to herself, _why was it not midnight yet?_ It seemed to feel that it cannot be.

She turned back to Loras, reality dripping on her back like some ice-cold water. _He_ wouldn’t be in this part of town. And a chance encounter like that would not happen in her lifetime considering her luck. For if she were that lucky, she would probably not be in this situation in the first place and she would probably not have met Jon at all—at least, she would have known him in an altogether different circumstance.

So no, there were no chances whatsoever that someone like Jon would be in the same vicinity as her right now. 

It was not probable at all.

“Loras,” she said instead, taking a sip of her coffee and away from the man’s direction. “Seriously, I want to thank you again for signing me up for the teaching job.”

“Oh, please. Don’t mention it.” was all her best friend replied. “I know how you’re so good at what you do.”

“I really don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

“Just make sure to get your two boys far and away from that aunt and uncle of yours, consider it paid.”

Sansa wanted to chuckle at that but the pain cannot be missed too, for while Loras spoke true, the truth had also never been so easy to manage. Leaning over the counter to give her friend a quick hug, Sansa was able to mention, “Well, tell me something I would not do to get them back.”

Loras patted her softly and smiled. “Go get them, you wolf.”

A genuine smile plastered on her face as they let go. Then, she turned on her heels and out of the shop, trying her might to keep her thoughts focused on the class and finally away from the man who was probably already stealing her heart.

 

**

 

The café’s bell rang again as a tall, blonde woman behind the counter shouted his order. Jon took a glance to see his two cups already in the pick-up station. He stood from his seat and offered a smile as he retrieved his coffee. Then timely, he saw Sam waving at him outside. 

“So soon?” said Jon as he handed walked out of the café and handed Sam’s coffee.

“Their instructor just arrived and they’re about to start. You want to take a look?”

“Nah,” Jon begged off, walking towards the SUV, wanting nothing but to already start working just so he could end it just as quickly later on. They climb the vehicle in silence, taking one last glance at the studio.

“The teacher, Ms. Stark, seems friendly.” Sam told him as he started the engine. “Seems our age too. Quite tall with red hair.”

 _Tall with red hair_ , Jon can’t help the smile as he remembered _her_. What were the chances of meeting Sansa today, in daylight? What were the chances that she was an art teacher during these hours? It could be her, but it could not also be her. The curiosity was tempting but if the teacher was, indeed, _her_ , Jon thought, it shouldn’t be that easy.

It shouldn’t be that convenient.

There were some things worth taking an effort, and in Jon’s mind, she was one. He’d move heaven and hell just to see her now, to make her be Sammy’s art teacher and not to anymore see her on the streets. But that was asking for too much and perhaps, even too good to be true.

Then, something struck again quite so annoyingly he cannot help but wince because another truth dawns: he still knew little about this woman in his life who keeps him at his toes, who wander in his thoughts day and night. It was not very pleasant to think about the fact that once, or just a couple of days ago, Sansa was nothing but a stranger to him—and he was more than ready to alter that fact, wanting himself to honestly delve deeper into what she had truly become in his life. Where she became his sanctuary, his escape, and perhaps, even his passion. 

For at first his journey to the district was for distraction, meeting Sansa had totally changed that disposition. 

 _He wanted her_.

More than what their entangled bodies said so every night.

“You alright, Jon?” Sam asked beside him, bemused.

“Yeah,” he nodded, finally putting the vehicle on drive. “I just thought of someone really important.”

 

**

The children run around the studio while she and Jeyne prepared the materials for today, the coffee cup now ignored on the desk at the far end of the room. As they asked for them to settle down on their little stools, Sansa welcomed the children with a wide grin.

“Good morning, class.” she had asked joyously. “Are we all ready to paint?” 

The children replied almost instantaneously. _Yes_ , they all yelled.

Sansa can only smile again, clapping her hand in delight. “Alright then, but first, we should start with names. Who wants to volunteer?”

Several hands flew in the air and Sansa and Jeyne had to chuckle with the children’s enthusiasm. Deep in her heart, she just imagined there at the corner, Bran and Rickon were also in the room, smiling and raising their hands too. Sansa managed to swallow the lump in her throat as she pointed to a young boy to introduce himself. 

The chubby boy stood up and smiled. “Hello, my name is Sammy Tarly.”

“Hello, Sammy!” chorused Sansa and Jeyne. Then, the rest of the children followed. Sansa asked the girl in pigtails next then the remaining children stood up one by one. 

She could do this for the rest of her life, Sansa realized, watching as each of the kids stand and say their name. There was a certain thrill that ran through her in the simple prospect that perhaps, this was something she could share with Jon later. She wondered, what would he make of her when he found out?

Would he be proud of her? Would he encourage her?

Then just outside, she took a glance as a black SUV passed by.

  

* * *

 

(The Stars Shiver in the Distance)

 

The night is warm and just right that Jon felt like he was sweetly drowning in it. It was midnight and she was here. And there was nowhere else he’d rather be but only in this bed where she was draped in his arms so lazily, so comfortably he’d want to keep her there for the rest of their lives.

Jon traced the length of her back as they snuggled.

“How was your day?” he had asked amidst the bliss.

Sansa turned to meet his gaze, resting a hand on his chest. “It was wonderful.” Then after a little while, “Yours?”

He smiled and kissed her. “It just got wonderful too.”

She muttered something almost so incoherent but his ears perked up with her words. He almost didn’t catch it but he did and nonetheless, he wanted to hear the sweet words again. “ _What did you say?”_

In the darkness, he could feel her warmth and if only his eyes would allow, he also imagined her cheeks reddening.

“I said I missed you.” she mumbled truthfully again.

Jon felt like he was flying and that if she was blushing, he knew that he was too. Almost hurriedly, he kissed her and she laughed in his mouth.

“Well, I’ll have you know, Ms. Sansa.” he whispered back. “I missed you too.”

 

 

 

* * *

 


	6. The Mournful Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they parted, she had wished that they didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

The black dress fell almost to her heel and the coat hung heavy on her shoulders. Sansa can see the cold air coming out of her lips and she wound her arms tighter around her waist, leaning on the wall of the closed laundry shop in Central Station, waiting for Jon to arrive. The lamppost flickered above and the street resounded with the traffic of the main avenue.

For the first time, she was in the district before midnight—too early for any of the girls but too late for her to back out of the ball. The prospect of going to the charity from nights before were a certain excitement that thrilled her: long gowns, champagne glasses, endless laughter… it was a pretty picture. But on this night, the night of the event itself, Sansa can only feel her stomach churning. She felt clammy and nervous; like a fish out of water.

Perhaps, this was wrong. Perhaps, indulging herself to experience again the glamour of her old life was a mistake.

Perhaps, it was not worth it.  

She hadn’t even asked Jon if this was a paid night or if this was simply a date; where she had agreed to go out with him, where boundaries had already blurred and Jon already became more than a nightly customer.

Truly, what was he now in her life?

Her savior? Her hero? Her boyfriend? There were so many things left unsaid but in which this date ultimately confirmed. Sansa felt her stomach flipping again at the lunacy of it all.

From afar, she can hear a car zooming fast, _familiar_ , and she just knew that it would be Jon. She took a side way glance on the street, deciding on her last-minute escape when the sports car screeched and stopped hard in front of her. It was too late.

Then she watched silently, mouth dry, as Jon had actually climbed down to meet her; smiling, wearing another impeccable black suit, looking so oblivious to her state of nervousness.

“I should have picked you up at your house.” he rounded the car and into the pavement, hands in his pockets. Sansa stood straighter but can’t seem to see him in the eye. “You look out of place here.” 

Sansa forced herself to smile. But he frowned at her less than enthusiastic response and offered a hand. “I can’t see much of you, come here.” 

His hand was like an anchor and Sansa immediately grabbed it tightly. He pulled her towards him, bodies almost touching, and warmed her hand, rubbing it with his own.

“You’re cold.” he murmured. “Were you waiting long?”

Sansa shook her head.

“You don’t know how happy I am that you showed up.”

The nausea returned ten-fold and Sansa would have gotten away if only his hand wasn’t in a tight grip with hers. This was a mistake, Sansa pondered deeply. She cannot do it. 

He seemed to sense her displeasure, what with the way she still cannot look at him directly. There was a frown on his face she can’t also help but feel slightly endeared with his concern. 

“What’s wrong?” Jon asked, moving a hand to lift her chin up.

“This,” Sansa was able to manage. “All of this.” 

“What?” 

“Why Jon?” she looked to him now, pulling her hand and backing away from his hold. “Why me?”

His face alighted with wonder once the words were out. His eyebrow lifted, his mouth pursed. Maybe he doubted too. Maybe he wasn’t sure. The uncertainty of which made Sansa feel worthless for maybe—truly, she was really just some random girl he happened to take a chance on. Then other than that, she was just that. 

A girl on the street. 

She was feeling too much all of a sudden, not knowing why she had to be this doubtful, of why she felt the need for him to answer so many of her questions. But she knew the real reason though, deep inside. Countless nights she cannot keep her thoughts away from him, then countless days where she only imagined to be by his side. And then this night, where they were about to cross another line, Sansa was more than sure of it; where she was absolutely and positively certain of what she wanted and what she needed from him. For undoubtedly, there was no denying anymore.

She was beginning to fall in love with him. 

And if this night was only for show, she was not sure if she can survive its aftermath. 

Her tears now threaten to fall. But Sansa braced herself. She won’t cry in front of a stranger. Not anymore.

But Jon only moved closer, cupping her cheek, and she only felt the warmth of his hand on her face. 

“I see you, Sansa.” he only said. “And you do not belong here.” 

 _Then where_ , she had wanted to ask. An answer—both terrifying and wonderful—echoed in her head at the same time that it also fell out of his lips; darkly, almost menacingly if not possessively, Jon moved again if only to omit the distance that remained in between them. He whispered to her, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, “ _You belong with me.”_

Sansa looked up and was met with his piercing gaze. She was not even able to comprehend his words clearly when he closed the gap between them, his lips connecting with hers in an instant, obliterating any other thoughts in her head only that there he was, kissing her as if there would be no tomorrow and they only have this night.

When they parted, she had wished that they didn’t. But she heard Jon heave a breath.

“Was that enough proof?” he asked her now. Words abandoned Sansa in this moment but a smile silently crawled on her features. Then his eyes also wrinkle in delight. He pecked her quickly one more time before clasping a hand on hers again.

“We better hurry.” Jon only said as he led them to the car. “I cannot wait to show you off.”

 

**

 

The chandeliers light up the expanse of the ballroom and the chatter of people continue to envelop them the moment they stepped foot inside. Sansa kept to his side as they strode the corridor and deposited their coats at the lobby of the manor. Only then was he able to take a good look at her. 

She was wearing a simple long black dress with thin lace straps and has her hair in a messy loose braid. Jon scooted closer only so he could whisper, “You’re a beauty, Sansa.” Then he wondered, why were they in the charity ball when they could just get themselves already naked somewhere else?

He heard her laugh in his ears and it was a melody he wanted to memorize forever. Earlier in the district, his heart was captured the moment she had asked, _why me?_ As if there was someone else he’d rather be with. But that point being, Sansa didn’t know that. She didn’t know that there was no one else. So if tonight they had to cross that line, he would be more than willing to finally do so. 

There was only her. And he’d never want anyone else after.    

Jon wrapped an arm around her waist as they walk the ballroom. He was happy to feel her scoot closer as strangers bump into them one after another, with some giving them vague smiles. But his eyes were only for Sansa, pressing her more to his side. 

“There are so many people.” he heard her say as he kissed her temple. 

He chuckled. “True. But they don’t matter tonight, _love_.” 

She glanced at him, surprised at his words and he reddened in slight embarrassment for where did that come from? The endearment while true, seemed to take him on a leap far more than he had anticipated. Nonetheless, the blush on her cheek was a welcome delight he’d make a fool of himself one more time just to keep it there. 

The string quartet went on into another melodious concerto and the guests roused with a round of applause and chinked their champagne glasses. In another circumstance, Jon would have hated to be here and of the pretentiousness it represented. But with Sansa by his side, oddly, he felt the luckiest man alive and he wanted the world to know it.

“Jon Snow.” a man behind him clapped his shoulder. “I thought you’d never come.” 

Jon turned and was met with a warm smile from his favorite uncle. “Uncle Oberyn.” 

Oberyn gave him a one-arm hug and looked at him from head to toe. “Still handsome, I see.” 

Jon laughed. “And still sly with the words, uncle.”                       

“And who is this similarly gorgeous lady?”

He saw Sansa blushed and politely smiled. Something tugged at Jon, something that made him proud of her, of how she was holding herself together in this sea of strange faces. 

“This is Sansa,” he then announced, resting an hand on her shoulder. And then, he can’t keep himself from saying, “ _My girlfriend_.”

The words spilled so smoothly, so confidently from his lips he cannot keep the grin away. He looked at her knowingly, gently pressing on her skin as if to further communicate his intent and that, he was sincere.

“Hello.” she gracefully replied and offered a hand. Oberyn took it but instead of shaking, he brought it to his lips for a peck. She blushed again to Jon’s amusement.

“Oberyn Martell, my lady.” the other man replied, winking at her direction.

Jon felt another laugh coming. “Don’t scare my girl away, uncle.”

“I believe if that happened, it would not be my doing,” Oberyn only shook his head. “That would be your father’s fault.” 

Jon rolled his eyes. “Please save me then and tell me where he is? In case I need to run?” 

“With the Daynes, as usual. Rhaenys is dying at this moment, I believe.” 

“Oh gods.” 

“ _Oh gods_ , indeed.” Oberyn roared, taking a glass as a waiter passed by. “You better hide, Jon Snow. Your sister will have your head for leaving her alone, I am so sure of it.” 

Then, he made a graceful bow and excused himself from them both. Oberyn was immediately swallowed by the crowd and Jon let his arm slide from Sansa’s shoulder to take her hand instead, clasping it tightly and leading her to a more secluded area. 

“Girlfriend, huh?” she teased as they crossed the French doors and into the quiet and cold of the terrace. 

Jon cannot help the grin. “Would you prefer if I just said friend? I didn’t find it quite appealing and fitting, to be honest.”

“Girlfriend means crossing so many lines, _Jon Snow_.”

“Ah, there it is.” 

She rolled her eyes but smiled, “Nice to meet you.” 

“Pity, I don’t know yours.” 

“And yet you have the audacity to call me your girlfriend.” 

“See if I care, _miss_. I’m satisfied to call you anyway I know how.” he kidded. “What about Sansa Snow? Has a nice ring to it.”

Sansa laughed hard. “ _You’re a flirt_.” 

“Only when I’m with you.” 

She studied him before raising an eyebrow, “Do you say that to all your girls?” 

But Jon only moved closer and snaked an arm around her waist. “There’s just one.” 

He nudged his nose to hers then leaned his way to kiss her neck, whispering, “I can’t believe you _can’t_ believe that.” 

He heard her contentedly sigh as he nipped her neck, leaning her body to his and placing a hand on his chest, saying, “Like your uncle said, you’re too pretty.” 

Jon guffawed but shook his head nonetheless, pulling away slightly but just getting more and more endeared with this beautiful, brilliant, and witty woman. He tucked a stray hair away from her face and he can’t help but stare at her again. 

“My lady,” he almost said breathlessly. “What am I going to do with you?” 

Sansa smiled and took a deep breath. Then she leaned unto the railings and looked to the distance, as if already flying with the wind. Jon followed suit, happy to see the view of the city skyline and of its dotted white and orange lights. The moment made him feel quite invincible, the beauty of which gave Jon some certain satisfaction and ardor for the night—that, and the fact that he was just standing beside Sansa, the only person he certainly felt quite smitten with. Being with her definitely made wonders to his mood, he knew now. If only he can stop time, he would do so in a heartbeat; just so he could be trapped in this moment with her.

“What are you thinking?” he asked after a little while.

“Of how beautiful it is.” she shrugged then nodded to the view. “I’d die to wake up to a view like this every day.”

And Jon knew that he would too if only he can have her in this view for the rest of his life. Where she leaned to the railings almost so lazily and so content; with an innocent smile on her face, with her dress cascading smoothly down her back and sways gently to the breeze; her hair slightly dancing too, back and forth, back and forth, until he can’t help it and tucked the strays away; then, as she looked up to the stars with delight in her eyes, Jon felt as if he could cry at the simple beauty of it. 

How can someone make him feel this way in a matter of minutes, of seconds? It was as if her happiness, her joy, easily flowed within him too. Whatever she felt also resonated in him so deeply.

If she was happy, he was too. So, Jon wanted to drown in that thought; into that sudden and intense connection he felt to her. 

He heard her sigh beside him and sneaked a glance, struck again all so suddenly for, gods, she was just so beautiful. 

Sansa caught him looking and another blush found itself on her cheeks. 

“ _What?_ ” 

Jon can only shake his head, his mind feeling both heavy and light with the fullness of her. “Nothing.”

She let it pass but he noticed the playful smirk on her face. Then she asked almost shyly, “Tell me true. Is this your house?”

“No,” Jon now explained, tracing the wrought iron of the rails. “This was my grandfather’s. And now, it has passed on to my father.” 

“Then it will be passed on to you?” 

“Technically, it would be passed on to my brother, Aegon—if he showed up soon enough from his ‘sabbatical’.”

Jon can’t help but feel the bitterness. Aegon was supposed to be the one enduring the business, not him. 

“How wonderful do you think is it though?” Sansa wondered aloud. “To just disappear? Maybe, roam the world?”

“The gods only know where the hell he’s been.” 

“I have an older brother too.” she now smiled. “His name was Robb.”

Jon caught it even before she realized and he instantly felt a tad bid protective, as if so hateful of the world that had done something so utterly wrong and painful to her. He looked at Sansa, wanting to say that it was alright, that he was here now, but she cleared her throat, realizing what she just said and ultimately tried to cover her slip-up. 

“What do you think is for dinner?” she laughed beside him. “I’m starving.”

Jon snorted, accepting her way out of the conversation. “Knowing my father, anything expensive would be involved. Shall we head back in?”

He didn’t wait for her response before taking her hand again to lead her back to the ballroom, now searching for their seats. But Jon was sure he would be seated with his family upfront. He detested it but didn’t want to make a scene with the party planners or worse, with his father. Besides, it would be good to see Rhaenys now and introduce this new woman in his life.

Then he spotted her just in front of the podium and she waved when she saw him coming.

“Jon!”

His sister was a beauty of her own. With dark silky hair, olive skin, so much so like the southerner that she was. Elia, looking so similarly beautiful as her daughter, also smiled as she saw him.

“Rhae,” Jon put her in a tight hug and kissed her cheek. “Were you waiting long?”

“I’ve been _suffering_ long, Jon, don’t push me.” his sister rolled her eyes. “Father only left my side just now.”

Jon chuckled then turned to Elia and also gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Mother.”

Sansa remained quiet on his side and he cannot help the grin when Elia looked at him pointedly and with a smirk, as if wanting an explanation. Rhaenys was bolder though. She nudged him and playfully raised an eyebrow. 

“You won’t let me forget this, won’t you?” Jon said finally as the two ladies still smile curiously. Then holding her by the hip, he uttered once again, “Ladies, I’d like you to meet Sansa. Sansa, this is my sister Rhaenys, and my mother, Elia.”

“Well,” Rhaenys smiled cheekily an offered a hand. “How do you do, Sansa? I’m Rhaenys Targaryen.”

She smiled back and to Jon’s relief, didn’t look so questioning or bothered at the fact that Rhaenys had a different surname. “I am very well, thank you very much. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

“What a sight you two are.” his mother then urged. “You are quite a beauty my dear girl.”

It was the second time Sansa blushed care of his family. He couldn’t be any prouder of them.

“Oh, thank you very much, ma’am.” replied Sansa as she received Elia’s kiss on the cheek.

“Please, call me Elia. Any friend of Jon’s is a friend of ours.”

“If she is _only_ truly Jon’s friend, mother.” Rhaenys teased knowingly, giving another nudge to Jon. Elia only laughed.

“Well,” she indulged herself, tapping Sansa by the shoulder, almost also as if teasing her. “I would not be surprised if you weren’t _just_ _a friend_.”

“ _Mother_ ,” Jon was finally able to groan and roll his eyes. Beside him, Sansa was already beet red—redder than her hair.

Rhaenys and Elia only laughed again. Despite the slight embarrassment, Jon was grateful for the encounter and if he was honest, he was quite excited for them to meet Sansa the moment they had left the district earlier on. But this welcome was more than what he had expected. He knew that they would be polite, as they always were, but the friendly teasing, whether brought upon the alcohol that flowed in the night or of their own fervor, was something he truly appreciated.

Elia and Rhaenys Targaryen had always been kind to him and his relationship with them only grew over the years; more so with Elia—who, while not his biological mother, had never been anything but loving to him.

Jon’s heart felt full at the thought of it and he turned to look at her, remembering his years of loneliness and solitude after the death of Lyanna Snow and was appeased only when this new woman came into his life. This woman, who despite the pain he knew his existence represent, never once made him feel like an outsider. It was that kindness that made him who he was today; of why he still strived to fulfill his role and his duties for the family; of how much he owed almost everything to her.

Elia Targaryen’s heart had already been broken first by Rhaegar then Aegon. So, for all that she had done, and for all the understanding she had bestowed upon him, Jon cannot and would not ever hurt her the same way that they did.

“I see you finally made your appearance, son.” But a stern voice said from behind. Jon turned and was disappointed to see his very own father approaching their small circle, champagne glass on hand. As he neared, he didn’t even bother to greet the other members of his family. His eyes were only trained on him and to the woman he had on his arms—to Sansa, looking at her from head to toe.

“And I see why you had to refuse Marissa Dayne.” Rhaegar said pointedly. Jon already felt his blood boiling the mere second he saw that silver hair. Rhaenys and Elia still smiled encouragingly beside him though, but Jon can already see the strain on their faces as if they too were dreading his approach.

“Perhaps a name for the lady, Jon?”

He had wanted to groan. He had wanted to say it didn’t matter for Rhaegar did not matter and Jon did not care for what he thought. But Sansa, his lovely, ever polite Sansa, was more than ready to tread the waters and return the calm, immediately offering her hand.

“My name is Sansa, sir.” Jon at first can hear her slight panic but then, “ _Sansa Stark_.”

The words flew to his ears like some precious gift he had not at all expected amidst the tension. While the delight did not escape Jon for finally, _finally_ , he knew of her full name and he could jump for joy, Rhaegar only raised an eyebrow at her.

“Stark? The Starks of Winterfell?”

If anything, Sansa only paled and pulled her hand back, looking quite stunned. Jon instantly felt nauseous at the change of her disposition. Something was wrong. And he was not liking this turn of events at all. He scooted closer and took her hand, unknowing of what troubled her and yet worried that something had indeed changed, feeling as if she wanted to get away.

“Father—” he tried to intervene.

“It is a very simple question, Jon.” Rhaegar insisted.

After a short silence, Sansa was finally able to whisper and to Jon’s surprise, held her head high. “ _Yes_.”

Rhaegar didn’t even blink before replying, releasing another scathe, sipping from his glass as soon as he had finished speaking. “Then I am very sorry for your loss, my dear girl.”

Instantly, Jon wanted to strangle his father. For he would not take this encounter just as easily, would he? He needed to ensure something terrible must come out of it. For all that this man knew about Westeros’ high society, for all of his etiquette and snobbery, this was far too much, far too intrusive, and far too cold. Jon desperately wanted to know how and why his father knew Sansa or her family. Was it something he was also supposed to know upon meeting her? And yet, he only knew of her full name now. And while the surname did ring a bell, Jon obviously wasn’t completely and fully informed.

He turned to gaze back at Sansa and she was paler than ever. Then, despite her stance, he saw her tears threatening even if she tried her might to steady herself. Everything just went blank after that and the rage overpowered Jon he wanted to punch his father then and there, in the face, in the gut. He moved, feeling his legs urging him to do so; to already go in for the kill. But he felt a tight grip on his arm, ultimately stopping him from his tracks.

He turned to look and see who stopped him.

 _Elia_.

Elia and her kind face.

Elia and her silent plea for him for him to let this pass.

No, not at the charity ball. No, his rage was not welcome tonight. Not around these people, not around the fancy music and the fancy dresses. _No_.

This was something they had to deal with privately.

As a family.

 _Please_.

Breathing hard, Jon can only nod to his mother before pulling himself together. He threw Rhaegar another scornful look then he clasped Sansa’s hand and walked away.

  

**

 

The drive was quiet except for the running engine of the sports car. The top was down and the FM station played some sappy ballad Sansa wanted to tear her ear out. She still can’t get over what had happened and just when attending the charity ball seemed to be a good decision. Elia and Rhaenys were adorable.

As for Jon’s father, Sansa could not think of any proper word.

But she knew too that someday, it could happen. That someone would recognize her by her family name, that someday the pain could spill out of her all over again, just like that night two years ago when the plane she had missed crashed but thinking, _desperately_ —always in the worst of days, that she should have been there with them.

Excruciatingly she knew, she should have died too.

But the faces of Bran and Rickon flashed through her head Sansa heaved a quiet sob and scolded herself with her thoughts. She cannot give up on them now. Her brothers still needed her. Sometimes, she thought of lying instead. Of pretending to be someone else, to be Alayne Stone just so she could escape the agony. But just the mere thought of doing so already nauseates her, as if she was betraying them all. All of them who had left her.

 _Father, mother. Robb. Arya_.

Their names sliced something throbbing in her.

The wind flew past as they zoomed in a quiet part of town. Sansa had to hold on to her skirt and her hair to keep herself decent. Beside her, Jon was still fuming, the accelerator hitting the hundreds at this point.

“Jon,” she finally spoke, turning to him. But he remained quiet and almost seething.

“Jon.”

He took a quick glance but ignored her.

“ _Jon_.”

“What?”

“Stop the car.”

He hit the gas harder.

“I said stop the car.”

“No.”

“Stop it.” Sansa almost shouted. “I can walk from here. You need to go back.”

“If you think I’m going to drop you off like some stray cat, gods help me, Sansa—”

Then Sansa didn’t know where the anger was coming from—if it was because of what happened earlier on or if it was coming from somewhere else, somewhere deeper in her; of how she woke up late _that_ day, earning a restless phone call from her mother and a loud chuckle from Robb; of how she ran through the airport just so she could make it; of her tripping and spilling out the contents of her bag: her make-up, her passport. She laughed then, she clearly remembered. And as the plane left without her and she hastily called and left frantic messages to her mother saying she’d take the next flight instead, she can’t help but express the deep anger in her, her words spiteful and livid.

“But that’s where you picked me up, isn’t it?” she yelled “Here on the streets! On a boring night, you happen to see some lonely girl and you know what you did? You fucked her! You fucked her, Jon. _You’re just fucking me!_ ”

They abruptly stopped, earning a few blares from the other cars and for Sansa to hold on tightly to the dashboard.

“ _What the hell, Jon—!_ ”

“Is that what you think it is?” he shouted back at her. “That this is just about fucking you?”

“You shouldn’t have brought me to that party.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t!”

It felt like a slap. Sansa moved to open the car door but Jon was quicker, holding her by the arm and pulling her close.

“Goddamn it, Sansa.” he held on to her. “Stop it.”

But she wouldn’t budge. She tried to free herself from his grip. And it wasn’t until he placed a hand on the nape of her neck that she realized she was already crying. Tears had pooled and blinded her gaze. She felt her chest heaved and her arms and legs weaken. The next thing she knew, she was enveloped in Jon’s arms.

“Shh.” he whispered to her ear, rocking them both. “Shh, I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean what I said.”

She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault; that he had been more than kind and considerate to her these past days they'd spent together. He was nothing but almost loving and that truly, she had enjoyed every single moment of it with him.

It was just that, there were some things much bigger than them at this moment, creating a crevice in between them, glaring boldly, creeping up slowly, almost wrapping itself on their necks and only to suffocate. There were far too many things left to say, too many secrets left unshared. Sansa didn’t know how else she could keep up with it _—_ worse, if Jon could.

Could he be her savior once more?

Sansa sniffed and tried to collect herself, wiping away the remaining tears. She felt Jon’s hand caressing her face and it seemed like she could cry again. She wanted him to stop being so nice and just let her leave and endure it on her own.

“I’m sorry, Sansa. My father _—_ he’s a very difficult man.” he repeated again.

“I can gather that.”

“Let me at least take you home.”

“ _Jon_ ,” she looked at him and was not surprised to see the tenderness in his eyes. As always. But this, this offer; this was another line they were going to cross. He smiled sheepishly as he run his thumb on her cheek as if knowing this fact too.

“Please let me, Sansa.”

It took another moment of contemplation before she felt herself nod, thinking, there was nothing to lose at this point. Jon only responded with a wide grin and settled himself back properly in his seat.

“So,” he asked, still grinning mad. “Where to?”

Sansa managed to laugh at his enthusiasm.  

“To Brick Avenue, Mr. Jon.”

 

* * *

 

(Everything is Alive)

 

The top was down and the wind was blowing past them; an old song was playing on the radio, the tune carrying out sweet words that flew in the space between them.

He sneaked a glance towards her as she still stared outside, hair billowing with the wind. There was a soft, peaceful smile on her face he felt his heart jump inside his chest.

He didn’t know for how many times he thought of it but gods, she was just breathtaking.

Bravely, slowly, almost intimately, he moved only to slide his hand to intertwine with hers.

He gripped it tight. She did too.

Then, the rest of the world became a blur as they pass by.

 

 

 

* * *

 


	7. Under the Infinite Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was lovely in its own way, lovely in her eyes. For it might not be so much but it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all your lovely messages for this fic! I'll be replying to those soon but first, here's another chapter. :)

(You are Mine, Mine, Mine)

 

Brick Avenue greeted them with its countless neon sign boards that scatter. The night was cold but the notion of Jon’s hand that was still in hers create a certain warmth in her chest Sansa had wanted to scoot closer to his side, if not for the console in between them.

She glanced in his direction instead as he drove, still amazed at how lucky was she to have met him; him who made her feel ten different things all at the same time: dizzy, euphoric, thankful, content, beautiful... and safe. More than anything, he made her feel safe.    

“Just make a turn over there.” she directed, getting out of her wonderful trance. “Then if you see Highgarden Café, that’s me.”

But the car lurched as Jon almost stopped abruptly again. Then he looked at her sideways with a frown on his face. Then without a word, he turned back to the road to quietly drive again.

Sansa felt a slight panic for the sudden change in his disposition. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Jon replied distractedly. “Everything’s fine.”

As they see the signage of the café, Jon made to park on the side street and Sansa can only feel her nervousness tripled. Because for surely, why else would Jon react this way if not for the disappointment that lingered for perhaps she was still, and ultimately, so down below his stature. Who lived above a coffee shop billeted in the poorer part of the city? While Brick Avenue wasn’t like the rougher district of Central Station, it wasn’t as top-notch as Jon’s area either. Artists and hippies surround Brick, placing the avenue in a niche filled with something quite radical yet still suffered the unfairness, the reality, and the heaviness of a big consumerist world. Simply, the sky scrapers swallowed them whole.

So in truth, Jon was and always will be a one percent. And Sansa. She belonged to the ninety-nine.

Jon was still quiet as they unbuckled their seatbelts and Sansa more than anything else wanted him to just leave already and not endure any form of social script she felt she needed to perform. As courtesy told her, she would have to at least invite him in.

She picked on her dress as she asked, “Do you want to come up? Have something to eat? We haven’t really eaten yet.”

That seemed to wake Jon up from his distress as he nodded towards her.

“Sure, that’s up to you.”

She forced a smile as he still looked almost petrified but climbed down the vehicle in silence. She glanced towards Highgarden, waiting and wanting for Loras to come rescue her from this circumstance (for he would know what to do) but he was nowhere in sight.

Sansa pushed the side door open instead and led them up, pulling her dress up so she won’t trip. Jon’s shoes click on the rotten floorboards and the staircase creak as they made their way up. He was gallant enough to hold her by the elbow as she almost missed their landing And was only able to murmur a small ‘thank you’.

As Sansa retrieved her keys from her coat, she had wished the corridor didn’t smell like an old sock and that the lights did not slightly flicker. It was like a horror movie out here and it was so underserving for Jon to see after just having been to his family’s beautiful manor. Sansa felt her skin prickle in embarrassment.

Finally, she got her door open and was thankful that the torrid smell did not penetrate her apartment. She flicked the switch on and the room enveloped them with a warm whiteness. Immediately there was the small kitchen to her right and the dining table that seated two to her left. Further was a small couch and a small TV set. Two doors were placed at the other end of the room, leading to a similarly small bathroom and a small bedroom.

Sansa exhaled, taking in the shame, looking at Jon as he glanced around the room—polite enough not to say anything. It was a tough life she lived but she knew she tried to make the apartment look as livable as possible, what with the number of plants that scatter the area, with the kitchen cabinets painted bright yellow; an old afghan that covered the couch, countless pillows with patterned designs, and her book stash on the wall, almost towering the expanse of the whole room. It was lovely in its own way, lovely in her eyes. For it might not be so much but it was enough.

“This is home.” she said then, forcing a smile as Jon turned to look at her again.

He smiled back almost absent-mindedly. “Yes, I like it. It’s very cozy.”

She rolled her eyes. “ _Yes, I’m sure_.”

“Sansa—”

“Your apartment’s so much better than all these crap.” she was able to say. “I’m sorry you have to see this.”

But he walked the distance and only held on to her, a wonder of a smile now plastered on his face. Then he breathed, almost as if composing himself.

“No, _no_.” he cleared. “It’s that what you think? That it bothers me that you live here? No, Sansa, it’s not it. It’s just that _I have been here_ —well, not _here_ but downstairs, at Highgarden, when I drove my buddy and his son to an art class next door. And the most peculiar thing had happened then, I barely can’t believe it now and my mind is just all over the place. But I remember that day so vividly and of how much I thought of having coffee with you downstairs, where the sun is up, where I can see you clearly and with people around to jealously gape because gods, you’re one hell of a looker. But I thought, what are the chances that it could happen, that you could be there with me when it’s not night? I thought it impossible because that would mean crossing so many lines but then I just realized now…”

He breathed again, almost laughing, seemingly surprised and delighted. 

“ _It’s you_.” Jon whispered with such awe, as if discovering her for the first time. Sansa felt her heart clench at his plain wonder. “ _Tall with red hair_. You’re the art teacher. And there was a moment in this godforsaken continuum that we were both at the same place and at the same time and where we did not come from the district and we were not shrouded by the darkness and why haven’t I known? _Why could I have not known?_ ” 

He brushed her cheek albeit still at awe at that almost chance encounter and Sansa can only shake her head in the slight confusion for how can he gather all of that in the middle of his seemingly endless euphoria? And yet in seeing Jon’s face, alight with happiness, she cannot help but smile too, feeling all too much in hearing his words.

“ _Yes_.” she managed to nod. “I’m an art teacher. In the morning when we part, I paint.”

Without notice, Jon kissed her with much fervor, as if a final breakthrough. Deep in her heart, she saw that morning again, the first day of her art class, and remembered the man whose back was turned towards her and wondered, could it have been him all along? She should have had approached him then, she should have had tapped him by the shoulder—she should have done something only to experience what it would have felt like to see him at Highgarden.

But no matter, Sansa now thought to herself as she deepened the kiss. He was here.

He was here now.

“Sansa Stark.” he ran a finger down her cheek as he pulled back to gaze at her.

“Yes, Jon Snow?”

“Say it again.” he whispered, cupping her face finally. “Say my name again.”

“Jon.” she closed the distance between them daintily, slowly. “ _Jon Snow_.”

“ _Sansa Stark_.”

She wrapped an arm around his neck as he moved in with another kiss. Softly at first, and then penetrating; almost desperately.

She had wanted to say it, those three words. But the moment, even if magical, did not call for it yet that she let it pass. But in her mind, it was like a chant, repeating again and again and again, she cannot get enough.

I love you.

 _I love you_.

 

**

 

The moonlight cast a poignant shadow as they lay quietly on her bed, clothes hastily disregarded once again. Jon ran a finger down her back, feeling contented, unbelieving still of the missed chance they had just the other day. But despite it, it only felt like they have reached another milestone.

She was a paint teacher. And it improved his mood just knowing that fact. He could tell her to end her district stunt now; the thought of another man picking her up shot something painful in him he wanted to punch the wall. Nonetheless, working in the district was something she didn’t need anymore. He would buy all her artworks if he had to, wanting her to know that she did not need to endure it all on her own.

He was here now.

He looked down to Sansa’s sleeping figure, unsure of what she would say about that but he didn’t care one bit right at this moment. All that mattered was her safety and his peace of mind, and a tad bit to settle his certain jealousy too.

But Jon cannot help but think as well of her words from earlier, of that older brother named Robb, of his father’s rude nonchalance as he expressed his pities. Greatly, he wanted to know what happened to her family that made her resort in this kind of life. He had wanted to text Sam and immediately ask him to search about the Starks of Winterfell. But the thought was disengaging and ruined the certain softness of the night. Perhaps, that could wait in the morning.

Jon stared outside to the dark sky dotted with star light instead. The greatness and vastness of which struck him suddenly he felt his fingertips thrum on the mere thought of the possibilities it represented. The grandness transferred down to his chest he needed to take a deep breath, feeling as if infinite—most especially now that he was with her. How he wanted to desperately just seclude them in this little cocoon forever. Then another truth did not escape him; of how little their world actually seemed, of how randomly they met but now realizing how tightly-knit he and Sansa was, apparently. It felt as if the everything had collided only for them to meet, like a magnetic pull he cannot explain, where secrets suddenly begin to unravel slowly albeit painfully, and for her especially.

He wanted to take it all away, all that pain, remembering that pale look on her face and of how it did not suit her one bit. In his eyes, she was only vibrant and alive. He wanted nothing more but to give Sansa everything that she deserved but he did not know at how well she would take all his pampering. For what he can gather about her, she definitely was not the one that took some lying down. If she did, she would not be fighting and surviving this life long enough.

He felt Sansa stir beside him and he turned to glance, wrapping her tightly against his arms. He watched as she yawned and stretched, so much endeared with her again, and patiently waited as she composed herself and finally opened her eyes to the darkness.

“Hey, you.” he whispered as he saw her stare up at the ceiling.

Surprised, she turned to shyly smile at him. “Up so soon?”

“I haven’t even slept yet.”

She chuckled. Then she turned to her side to stare up at him, hitching her leg up to his waist. She caressed his face and Jon basked in the pleasure of her touch again.

“What are you thinking?” she echoed him from earlier, caressing his face.

“Nothing.”

 _Everything_.

She raised a hand to trace his forehead. “There’s a frown line over here. That’s not nothing.” 

Jon took her hand and kissed it.

“Are you happy?” he asked, wondering truly. “In this moment, are you?”

She was silent for a while that he was slightly disheartened. But he heard her contentedly sigh before replying, “Yes, I’m very happy now.”

He kissed her softly upon hearing it and held her tighter. Then feeling even more brave than ever, thinking she deserved to hear it, letting her know he understood whatever pain she was in, Jon cannot help but to bring the truth that also sometime wore him down to no end.

“I’m a bastard.” he confessed, intertwining his hand with hers. She studied him for a while and he felt nervous of what her reaction could be. Would she abhor him? Would she judge him the way the rest of the world did?

“I’m an orphan.” but that was all she replied, scooting closer to his side. “Me and my brothers are.”

He had wanted to ask for more for he was willing to tell her so much. But the sadness flashed on her face again that perhaps for tonight, those words were enough. He kissed her forehead instead then reached down to lift her chin. Then he gave a chaste kiss to her lips to express his understanding, then he cannot help another slow, intimate one to tell of his ardor instead.

He wondered if he could say it, those three words, for wasn’t it what he already felt for her? He almost said it; it was almost there at the tip of his tongue.

I love you.

 _I love you_ —just waiting for him to utter one breath to spill it all out. But she groaned in delight with his kisses that he didn’t want to ruin whatever they had now. The tenderness of which, and he hoped, might already be enough to tell of his affections for her. So instead, he kissed her deeply and more, entering her and feeling all of her softness all at once.

And then, the moment felt as if it could never end.

 

**

 

The sunrise was at its most beautiful, where the clouds began to change their colors and the sky blushed in pink and orange. The temperature also hadn’t gone too cold that he only wore his boxer short and her, his thin shirt as they wake up to greet the day.

A smile was plastered on both their faces for it was morning, and for the first time, they did not feel the need to part—and perhaps, not ever from this day onwards. They scavenge the kitchen for something to eat, goofing around and then decided for some eggs again. She cooked while he started the coffee and then after, they went quietly to the dining table to eat their simple breakfast.

Outside, the sunlight started to creep in that it cast her hair and then his eyes into something almost golden. She smiled, feeling lucky to have him in her apartment and he did too, basking in the certain rawness the day presented, happy to finally see her in this new light.

The world below started to escape from their slumber but neither did care at this moment. He sipped from his coffee, she sliced through the eggs and then, slowly, his hand crawled atop the table to meet hers; caressing at first, then intertwining tightly, as if not wanting to ever let go.

And then the words, those three words, ever so lovely, silently crossed the space in between them.

 

 

* * *

 


	8. This Sadness of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The car ride left Jon in another state of wonder, thinking, could the day get any more beautiful?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Sansa heard the water stop and she cannot help but grin again, sipping from her teacup. The sun was at its fullest now and while the temptation to join Jon for a quick shower flashed through her head several times, she knew he needed the time to prepare for work. She’d gotten ready before him instead and allowed him to take his time, joking about ladies’ shampoo and whatnot.

The breakfast left them in a peaceful state of mind that Sansa wondered if it was only for that reason that Jon invited her to his office for the day. A lot of lines had already been crossed the previous night and parading her with the people he worked with was perhaps too little to even be considered as a blockage to overcome. She didn’t know where it came from, but an immediate yes and a smile was all she replied to him.

“Sansa?”

She heard Jon call for her from the living room. She took a peek and was welcomed by his figure clad only from waist down with a towel, drops of water from his wet hair scatter on his body. Sansa almost choked.

“ _Yes?_ ” she was able to say shortly.

Jon grinned, as if knowing too much at how she enjoyed the view. “Nothing, I was just wondering where you were.”

Sansa can’t help but to roll her eyes. She did feel a certain warmth crawled over her and more so as Jon walked the distance, drying his hair with another towel, then bent down to kiss her slowly.

“You happy, princess?” he teased, grinning like a fool.

She pushed him playfully but nodded nonetheless. “Yes, I’m happy.”

Jon rested his forehead on hers. “Good. So am I.”

He gave her another peck before striding back to the bedroom and then finally to some clothes. As he did, Sansa heard herself sigh in contentment, feeling the slight strain on her cheeks from being unable to keep herself from smiling all throughout the morning. It was more than what she imagined, truly, this happiness. The weight of which overwhelmed her she felt so undeserving of it.

The thought led her back to reality and almost cleared her mind from her endless daydream. As she waited for Jon to finish, Sansa decided to face another truth and stood to pick up the landline from the coffee table, dialing the Baelish’s number. 

Her aunt responded after the fifth ring. 

“Hello?”

“Aunt Lysa.”

“ _Sansa_.”

“Is Bran or Rickon already awake?”

“They are having breakfast.”

“Can I speak with them?”

Then Sansa can only hear her aunt's labored breathing, contemplating for this was a request she did not know she can accommodate. Ultimately, Sansa can only say, “I’ve sent the money already. Did you receive it.”

“Yes,” Aunt Lysa sighs pointedly. “But you know that is not enough.”

“I know. And I’m working on it.”

“Bran’s having another school project I cannot afford. I understand his talent but sometimes, Sansa, I just wish he isn’t this overzealous.”

Sansa gripped the phone tightly and felt her jaw clench in anger. Bran was smart and talented and Sansa was proud. She could not, in her mind, get over the fact why her aunt can’t appreciate just as much.

“I’m sorry about that.” was all she can say. “I promise to send more to compensate for his project.”

“You better.”

“Can I talk to them now?”

Another pause. Then, she heard some muffling as Aunt Lysa called her brothers.

“Sansa?” Bran’s voice was getting deeper and deeper Sansa felt her heart ache. She missed him so much.

“Hey,” she tried to keep her voice at level, not wanting for him to hear of her pain. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Bran only said. She imagined him rolling his eyes for her mothering. “Rickon’s beside me now. But he’s still got some cereals in his mouth he can’t talk.”

Sansa laughed. “That’s alright.”

“And what about you? Are you okay there in the city? Is it nice there? Are you working in those tall buildings? My classmates said that’s what their parents do. Is that what you do? Do you have computers in your office?”

The questions were endless. His eleven-year-old self still cannot help but be inquisitive with his surroundings and for that, Sansa was both proud and terrified, for there were answers to those questions she cannot easily give away.

“I’m alright, Bran. Loras is helping me adjust here.” she explained. “And you know that I don’t work in those tall buildings. I paint.”

And some other things.

He chuckled. “I know. But maybe you get to someday. Then I can tell my friends too.”

“Maybe someday, yes.”

“Sansa!” she heard little Rickon’s voice now booming on the phone. “I miss you! Are you coming back now?”

She felt her chest clench for she didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted to save up so she could provide for her brothers and take them away from the Vale.

“I don’t know, Rickon. I still have to work here.” she smiled through her brimming tears. “But I miss you too. The both of you, so much.”

“Can we visit you there sometimes—?”

But the phone was abruptly grabbed away and she can hear Aunt Lysa’s voice again. “The school bus is here. You can talk to them again tomorrow.”

“Oh, alright—” Sansa was still talking when the line got cut. Again.

She heaved a sigh, placing the phone down, thinking truly that wasn’t she used to that treatment? She was only hoping Aunt Lysa was kinder to her brothers than how she was dealing with her. Soon, she had hoped, this setting would change instantly, that it won’t be phone call that connected her to her Bran and Rickon; that soon it would be them in the other room, waiting for breakfast to be ready.

She said a little prayer to the gods, asking of that scenario and of how it could come fast, that she could save enough money to rent a bigger apartment and that her teaching gig could flourish further even after the summer season. Sansa thought next of the district and realized how the nightly stint brought her something else instead, something aside from the money she desperately needed.

For if Jon paid her for the time spent last night, she knew she’d punch him in the face.

At this point on, she didn’t want his money anymore. But she wondered, will he hate her if she continued working at the district? It was daunting for either way, his answer would rattle her. _Yes_ , then she had to find another way on how to earn cash and fast; _no_ , then she can already hear her heartbreaking at his indifference.

But if the past few nights weren’t proof enough that he actually did care for her, Sansa didn’t know what else could prompt him to just let her be, albeit Sansa now questioned: will she let him control that decision for her?

The door to her bedroom opened and Jon strode the room again with a smile on his face. 

 _How lovely_ , she contemplated. _To wake up to a scene like this every day_ —but knowing deep down that this was something that could suddenly become impossible if she continued on her stint at the district. Would Jon want to share her with another man?

“Why the frown?” he asked suddenly, sitting opposite her in the dining table again, wearing his shirt and slacks again.

“I was just thinking.”

“Thinking of what?”

She shrugged. “Of this. Of us.” 

“That’s sweet.”

“Jon,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m serious.”

“You think I’m not?”

Then she took the opening. She took it as a sign to ask, to believe that he was indeed serious and they had every right to discuss the prospect of her future at the district. Will she stay or will she leave it behind?

“Jon,” Sansa started again. “What is this then? Us? What is us?”

He pursed his lips before she saw the wrinkle in his eye. “Ah, so we’re having the talk, are we?”

“I guess.”

He rested his arms on the table and heaved a deep sigh. Then he asked, “What do you want it to be, Sansa?”

She thought of the countless things she wanted it to be: a steady, healthy, loving, and functional, relationship, a place and time where she could always be safe, a moment that could leave an imprint for the rest of her life. It was all too good to be true but what else could she hope for? That this was all just for fun? She took a leap of faith then and looked him straight in the eye, unknowing of anything else to say except for this one truth she had been holding on to like her anchor amidst the huge, terrifying waves of her life.

“I want it to be real.” she announced sincerely. “If not, then what’s the point?”

Jon studied her before reaching out to grab her hand. He opened his mouth only to whisper, “This is real, Sansa.”

“And I am not just some random girl you saw in the district?”

“You know what I think about that.” he scoffed.  “You do not belong in the district.”

 _You belong with me_ , his words echoed in her ears again—heavenly like some sort of everlasting promise.

“So you _would mind_ if I continue working there?”

“I think I’d _die_ knowing you still work there.”

“Jon—”

“There are other jobs out there, Sansa.”

“I know.”

“I could call some people I know—”

“No—!”

“—I want to help you—”

“You’ve already done too much—”

“ _Nothing is ever enough_ —”

“You’ve been too kind to me, Jon—”

“Sansa, you deserve—”

“I don’t want to be a burden—”

“So much more—”

“I don’t want to be _your_ burden—”

“ _You’ll never be my burden!_ ”

She took a deep breath at his words, he did too. They were silent for a while as the tension dissipated. Then, he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Arguing like an old married couple,” Jon snorted. “It could not get any real than this, my love.”

“Has anyone ever told you, you have a way with words?” Sansa asked after a little while, not being able to deny the pleasure that coursed through her as he said it.

Jon grinned. “I’ve been told.”

But the confusion still did not escape her. Looking down at her teacup, her expression might have revealed her doubts for Jon asked another.

“What are you so terribly afraid of Sansa?” he said. “ _I am here_. And I don’t think I’d ever have the courage to go on after—not without you, at least.”

“Isn’t this all too fast?” she argued, looking up. “How are we so sure? We barely know each other.”

“Maybe,” he rested his arms on the table. “But what’s wrong with that? There are people who waited years and years for something they can have for themselves only to be disappointed in the end. To realize they never had enough of it. Right now, we have a chance to experience it all. Wholly. At this moment, _we can have it_. And we might have started this in the most unconventional of ways but it’s the certainty amidst that uncertainty that makes this all so blissfully real for me. I wouldn’t have believed it too if only I don’t feel the way I feel. But for the first time, perhaps, in my entire life, I feel sure.”

He studied her. And then he asked almost in fearful whisper, “Are you, Sansa? Are you sure of this?”

 _More than you could ever know_ , she’d wanted to say but could no longer expound at how much she felt safe and loved by him all the time. So shyly, Sansa can only heave a breath before nodding and offering a small, sincere smile.

“Then don’t worry, love,” Jon said finally, grinning and clasping a hand on hers. “We now have all the time in the world.”

 

**

 

The car ride left Jon in another state of wonder, thinking, could the day get any more beautiful? He looked sideways to Sansa’s direction and smiled seeing her hair billowing with the wind as the pass by the city. He didn’t know where his courage came from earlier, with how easily the words slipped out of his tongue, but the image of her in doubt left him in a state of panic he almost poured his heart out.

And she was right. He had been told many times how he had a way with words, a certain eloquence he remembered learning from Lyanna Snow all those youthful years ago. But while the eloquence was perhaps something like second nature to him, the sincerity of which did not come as easily. But earlier on, that was what he can only feel.

Sincere.

“Are you sure, you’re sure?” Sansa had asked again, for countless of times now, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Like really?”

Jon can only manage a grin, turning in the corner avenue and into the heart of King’s Landing. “Yes, I’m pretty sure about it, Ms. Sansa.”

“Hm.” she wrinkled her nose. “How sure are you that I’m not some serial killer or worse, a gold digger?”

He laughed at that but explained his reasons: “Number one, if you were a serial killer, you would have already killed me.”

“I’m just taking my sweet time.” she teased.

Jon rolled his eyes but continued. “And number two, if you were a gold digger—” he looked at her pointedly then snickered, “— _do you think that I would mind?_ ”

Sansa playfully slapped him by the shoulder, making him chuckle.

“I am willing to lose all my money on you, Sansa Stark.”

“What a gross thing to say.”

He stopped by the red light and then turned to her, feeling that softness again whenever they were together.

“But it’s true,” he confessed, taking her hand for a caress. Sansa only rolled her eyes at him but he saw that small, shy smile again his heart beat ten thousand times faster. He was desperate to say it again, the three words, but stopped himself if only not to scare her away. In due time, he thought now.

There will be a proper time for that.

And _sincerely_ , he hoped for it to happen soon enough.

**

 

Sansa glanced around the room, amazed at the certain modernity in it. She grazed through the few picture frames with Elia and Rhaenys on it and a frame that belonged to a great white husky. She took this from the shelf and smiled, remembering her own wish to have a dog. Sansa wondered what the dog’s name was.

Jon’s office was huge, fitting only for a man of his stature. It was billeted on the top-most floor of the building (of course), with a spectacular view of the city (of course), and great hardwood flooring (of course) that Sansa wanted to remove her shoes and slide on the gleaming surface. She walked the expanse of the room around the couch set as Jon sat by his desk, typing away on his laptop with an adorable frown present on his face.

“I have a meeting in a few minutes,” he groaned. “It’s an urgent one.”

“Go.” replied Sansa, taking a turn then back to the desk beside him, leaning on the table and smoothing out Jon’s hair. “I can wait here.”

He placed a hand on her leg and gently caressed, pushing the skirt of her dress further up—and up. She smiled, tempted by his movements but quickly gathered her wits and took his hand away, placing it back firmly on his desk and slapping him playfully again. But he only heaved a sad, desperate sigh that she rewarded him with a kiss instead and softly whispered, _“Later”_ , nipping at his ears as she did so.

“You’ll be fine here?” he had asked as he instead snaked his arms around her waist and buried his head on her chest.

She ruffled and smoothed his hair. Then lifting his head for a kiss, “I’ll be fine here. There’s enough space for me to explore.”

Jon smiled and pulled himself up for another.

“I won’t be long.” he promised. “Or at least, I’ll try to be.”

“Then I’ll be here, Jon Snow, waiting. And then probably, _naked_.”

She received a quick slap in the butt for that.

**

 

The conference room was already filled with people as Jon stepped in. Sam was keeping stride but can’t help the grin on his face.

“Reception has told me you’ve walked in with a lady this morning.” Sam quipped softly as Jon settled on the rear end of the table. “Do you want something sent to her in your office?”

“ _Sam_ ,” said Jon exasperatedly, looking at his best friend with a glare. But Sam only shrugged and smiled giddily, as if enjoying this too much.

Composing himself, Jon stared to look at the people that gathered on the table. To his left were his creative team headed by Podrick and Edd. To his right were his clients from Riverrun Soaps, with Edmure Tully seated directly beside him.

“Jon,” the man offered a hand. He shook it. “It’s a pleasure to be here in Targaryen Advertising again. I cannot wait for what you have in store for us.”

“No, the pleasure is ours, Edmure. We are more than excited to work with such a well-established brand.” Jon replied almost diplomatically.

“Well, then. Let us see what you have for us.”

Jon nodded. Then, he stood up and buttoned his jacket, walking behind the team as he started the presentation.

He cleared his throat and began.

“Women love their skin.” he started. “And the skin loves a good pampering. But who else loves women and who else loves their skin? Who else loves to see the redness on their cheeks or longs to intertwine a hand with theirs? Who else runs a finger at the smooth of their backs or the nape of their necks or the curve of their waists?”

This part was his most favorite in any pitches, the moment he could express himself and the idea, where everything felt abundant and alive. He thrived in these moments.

“Any guesses?” he asked the room.

Edmure and his team only shook their heads.

Jon wanted to roll his eyes at their certain boredom but proceeded albeit quite pointedly. “People who love them, ladies and gentlemen. People who long to touch them again and again.”

Then he turned to the easels where the art works were displayed, still backside on.

“Riverrun Soaps. For a clear, smooth skin that is soft to touch.” Jon then explained further, turning poster after poster for his client to view. “Do you have any idea how powerful a single touch could be?”

Then, he remembered Sansa’s hands on his and in his mind, it only proved his point more.

On the mounts were studies of women who were snapped together with a loved one. All the images showed the pairs as they were in the midst of hugging or caressing or holding one another. The product is small at the lower corner with the brand’s logo just beside it. The last portrait, Jon’s favorite in the series, revealed that of young lovers hugging each other tightly with a soft fall of snow surrounding them.

It was simple, but it was potent.

“It’s still an early draft, but I’d like you to see where we are already headed.” Jon cleared, admiring the posters himself. He was proud of this work, to say the least. It was thought of almost seamlessly after the brief and instantly came about as the team sat on the project one day.

“So, we are just targeting women?” but Edmure asked with a frown on his face. “What about the men?”

“Riverrun Soaps is a beauty bar. It’s hard to sell vanity and beauty to people who does not care for it except only when they see it with their own eyes.”

“But young men can be very marketable too. Why can’t we include them in this?”

“Is that backed with any researches?” Jon almost challenged. He can see the panic in the older man’s eyes as he took a gulp. Then, Edmure can only whisper.

“We can conduct one soon.”

“Then that’s great.” he agreed. “We can include them if research said so but I can tell you this, communicating the same messaging to men is a path I think the brand is not ready to take. So far, brand loyalty to Riverrrun Soaps is only garnered via mothers’ words passed on to daughters. Not even to sons. But there is a big and untapped potential to young, independent women who know and choose what they want—and not because their parents said so. It’s that market we’re trying to talk to.”

“But the men—”

Jon sighed and repressed his anger, getting impatient with the discussion. “As I said, we can but that would require for you to create another line for the brand, for first and foremost, Riverrun Soaps are made for women.”

“Jon—”

“It is not a germicidal soap, it’s not a laundry soap, it’s a beauty soap. Men don’t need to feel beautiful. They need to feel strong. They need to feel complete. And sometimes, and even truthfully, in this patriarchal society that we live in, that includes a beautiful woman to be by his side. And that beautiful woman only uses Riverrun Soaps for her skin.”

“But that limits our selling point to just a portion of the bigger market.” Edmure argued, looking around the room as if for help, from his team, from Jon’s.

“ _Help me, help you_ , Edmure.” Jon reasoned, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I cannot sell a brand if you do not know how to sell your own product. What good is a campaign if we’re shoving it to the wrong market? Come on, we can do better than this.”

“I understand that, _clearly_. But I cannot help but think of the other part of the demographic that we fail to recognize.”

Jon shook his head. “But in doing so, we are able to focus on the demographic _that matters_. If we go wayward on this messaging, Lannister Beauty Bar would take on the marketing lead in the next quarter.”

“That’s not possible.” Edmure almost laughed. “We’re hitting the roof with our sales this time around.”

“And who do you think is responsible for that?” Jon challenged. “Who do you think made it all possible? The men?”

“Our loyal patrons.” Edmure snapped back.

Jon scoffed. “Your loyal patrons who happen to be women.”

The other man only sighed then studied the table for a long time. After a little while, “Fine.” Edmure conceded. “You get your women. I just want to be assured I’ll still be the number one brand by the end of next quarter.”

“You can take my word on it.” Jon finally felt the relief wash over him.

“And they say that is where you are great at, Jon Snow,” Edmure stood up from his chair with a smirk. “You and your words that win clients around the world.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“And modest at that too.”

“Please, _sir_.”

Edmure only shook his head at the jape.

“Say, can you do one small thing?” he had asked Jon.

“Yes?”

“Maybe add some little tagline on the posters. I’d love to see how else you can allure women to my soap.”

Jon felt like it was a challenge—a challenge that he was more than ready to take.

He offered a hand as the meeting adjourned, gripping Edmure Tully tightly and ignoring the wince on the other man’s face.

 

**

The lobby was bright with natural light coming in from the huge glass windows. Sansa received a text earlier from Jon (after finally exchanging numbers at her apartment) wanting to meet with her at the reception for brunch. He had said his meeting just finished and that he’d want to take the rest of the day off.

The receptionist eyed her carefully and with a knowing smile, but Sansa ignored this as she wandered the lobby and gazed at the numerous trophies and plaques displayed on some shelves. There were a few she found with Jon’s name on it; mostly for his writing work. A smile found itself on her face.

 _So, he’s a writer_ , Sansa thought. _No wonder he’s so good with words_.

She was about to take it off the shelf to study it closer when she heard footsteps come near her and then, a warm, familiar hand wrapped around her waist.

“Like what you’re seeing?” Jon whispered in her ear.

Sansa rolled her eyes albeit reaching to hold his hand. “Have you always been so fond of public display of affection? What would the people say, _Mr. Writer_.”

“Ahh,” he moved to turn her around. “So you’ve been snooping?”

“Not that it wasn’t displayed for all the world to see, Mr. Jon.” she nodded towards the array of plaques and trophies.

“You know how much I hate those?”

She frowned. “Why ever would you say that? You should be proud.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Let’s grab something to eat and I’ll tell you all about my work.”

She nodded in return and clasped a hand on his. But they were not too far away from the reception when someone called out to Jon.

“Jon!” Sansa turned around at the same time that Jon did. A quite rotund man was panting and running towards their direction. Something about him was so familiar to Sansa.

“Jon, I was just showing Mr. Tully out when your father called—”

And then behind him were a group of people in similar formal wear that Sansa felt a little out of place. She was about to scrutinize her simple dress when someone else caught her eye.

Then he too stopped in his tracks when he saw her. The rotund man neared and gaped but her eyes were only for the older man with the same blue eyes as hers.

“Ms. Stark?” squeaked Mr. Tarly, she now remembered from days ago in her art class.

Then he spoke. That man.

“Sansa?” he breathed.

“ _How the hell_ _—_ _?”_ she heard Jon exclaim.

But in the confusion and the heartache, Sansa was only able to whisper, “ _Uncle Edmure?_ ”

**

But Edmure Tully only hurriedly walked away from the building, his posse following suit, as Sansa still looked petrified beside Jon. For a moment there, panic resided in him for how did Edmure know Sansa? And the worse thought had flashed through his head, saved only by Sansa’s whisper, confirming that the older man was indeed someone else—rather than a man who had probably picked her up in the district.

Still, and considering the failure of a meeting earlier, Edmure Tully was testing his patience today.

“Sansa,” he whispered as they watched the Tully group scramble to ride their vehicle. “Sansa, love. Look at me.”

He heard it before he saw the tears; a small sniff and then a quiet sob. He looked around, quite a few of his workmates stare curiously; Sam looked empathetically at him.

“I have to go, Sam.” he insisted. Sam was still about to say something but Jon only gave him a stern look. And then gently, he took Sansa by the arm and then into the parking lot. He helped her climb the car and then hurriedly ran around to buckle himself in.  

Inside, she was still quietly crying and then he heard her frantic apologies.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Jon. I shouldn’t have acted that way.” she huffed. “It just took me off guard. That’s all.” And then, “It’s been so long since I last saw him.”

“Edmure Tully is your uncle?” he can’t help but ask; wanting some sort of confirmation—of relief.

Sansa wiped away the remaining tears and then nodded. “Yes, he’s my uncle. My mother’s brother.”

While Jon didn’t need to do the math, the situation still compelled him to clarify. “So, you’re a Tully?”

Sansa looked at him in the eyes; hers, sad, his, still aghast. Then she whispered still with that heartbroken expression, “ _Yes_.”

Jon tried to gather and swallow in all the information once again, shocked at how smaller their world was getting—but of how close he was in deciphering who really was Sansa Stark.

“I’m so sorry, Jon.” she said again but he ignored her. He can’t help the wonder, of what ultimately made his blood boil just thinking of it; at the peculiarity of it, of something so undeserving. Timidly, he tried to ask another that bugged him to hell.

“Sansa,” Jon started, holding out a hand for her. She gripped it tight. “If he is your uncle, why would he run away?”

She smiled bitterly. “It wasn’t the first time he’s done it. He also left me and brothers a long time ago.”

Then there it was again, the unnamed, faceless brothers. Despite the urging questions that flooded his head, he kept it all to himself, seeing how the incident had affected Sansa—who was quiet for the rest of the car ride to his apartment.

And so even hours after, it still rattled Jon’s head. Sansa begged him not to confront Edmure and not because he did not deserve it, but because she was not ready.

“Soon,” she promised as they lay in bed. “I’d like for you to help me.”

So instead, he took his mind unto a different endeavor altogether, finding another motivation in her tear-stricken face.

He had been working on the tagline for a few hours now, deleting and scratching useless words on his notebook as he sat on the bed, cigarette on hand again. Looking down at Sansa’s slight figure beside him, sleeping and finally with a small, peaceful smile on her face, Jon felt something stir in him he can only think of the raw and truthful words that could perhaps carry the burden of the Riverrun Soaps campaign and adequately fulfill his standards as a writer—that, and to once again prove something to Edmure Tully, as a payback of some sort for what he’d done to Sansa.

Smelling her hair and then kissing her temple, it struck Jon suddenly, as if she was the very projection of it; of the idea, of the words, of that certain veracity flowing through him. Jon felt his heart clench and his fingers thrum in excitement. He grabbed his phone to type the words for Pod, thinking insanely and madly of how perfect it all was.

 

**

Podrick Payne loved his job as an art director at Targaryen Advertising. Even if he constantly worked overtime, he did not know of anywhere else he’d rather be. Except sometimes for Rhaegar Targaryen’s intrusions at the office (to everyone’s dismay, especially Jon’s), working in the agency had been a blessing to him.

But the bitter discussion with Riverrun Soaps earlier in the day left the creative team irritated and inconsolable for having to deal with such kinds of (immature) clients. He’d been staring at the series of posters for hours now, not knowing of how else to make it more gripping. He tried and attempted to create copies for it, but he admitted that his talent only serves the visual and not the prose.

So Podrick Payne can only groan in relief at finally seeing Jon Snow’s text message, supplementing him with the very much wanted words.

 _How fitting_ , he thought as he read the tagline, thinking truly of how Jon was indeed a great Creative Director and copywriter. Only he could think of something as compelling and clever as this one on the screen. Pod knew he would never wish to work with anyone else on the team except for him, thankful that he was indeed one of his art partners.

So on the study he was now working on, that of a young man and woman in a deep embrace, with snow falling around, he readied the cursor and typed in the words Jon had just sent.

After, he smiled as he looked at his design and nodded approvingly, thinking highly at how the tagline made it all come together finally.

The words, there in simple font, had spelled out: _What do you love?_

 

 

 

* * *

 


	9. I Have Seen from My Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anything, it only made her think then that she could run away again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Sansa felt another pain in her chest as she inhaled a lungful of cigarette.

She was sitting near the window of Jon’s room, overlooking the city still dotted with the night lights. On the building’s pool deck some floors below, she could see a party happening, of which the music traveled up to where she was; the beat and the rhythm disguising the melancholy disposition of the hour.

The pain she was feeling was reminiscent of that day two years ago when the plane had crashed and there was no one to ask for help, no one to ask what she had to do next; of how she can move forward from it. Seeing Edmure Tully had only heightened this pain, remembering how he had abandoned her at the Vale, stating he wasn’t responsible enough to care for three children but knowing fully how Lysa and Petyr was so much worse.

 _He was weak_ , Sansa thought to herself, dragging another from her stick. _Still is_.

“I didn’t know you smoke.” she heard Jon rouse from the bed. “I thought it bothered you that _I_ smoke.”

She smiled. “Occasionally.”

“What prompted this then?”

Sansa sighed and shook her head in the darkness. She almost wanted to say it.

 _My uncle_. _My aunt. My life_.

“Come back to bed.” But Jon only requested quietly soon after.

The offer was tempting, seeing how he was still laying there, all snug and warm, blanket draped hastily over his legs; she could just imagine it again, of how his hands would roam once she sat back, then how hers would also find their way to trace his own form. Then it would only end in another kiss; a sloppy, wet, unforgiving one—and then more.

As always.

But in this early hours, even the appeal of that image cannot shake away the dread in her chest for the issue, for Edmure Tully, was still hanging above her head. And Jon did not deserve any attention from her unless she was fully and sincerely focused on him alone.  

So honestly, Sansa only replied, “I don’t feel like it yet.”

In the silence, she instead turned to look outside again. Far away, there was a quiet flash of lightning. Then she heard Jon shift, moving perhaps to view her better. When she turned to meet his gaze, the city lights painted him in quite a picturesque scene, like on that first night where he looked like some classic black and white photo. Something tugged in her that Sansa promised herself that there will be a time she can immortalize moments like this as she looked at him and where she can only see everything else from a perspective quite so lovely.

“I wish I could draw you now.”

He chuckled. “I don’t know what to feel about that.”

That interested Sansa to her core. “Why do you say that?”

“It seemed, I don’t know, intrusive, is it not?”

“Jon, we’ve done much more _intrusive_ things to each other than me drawing you.”

“I know, but it’s like seeing your thoughts about me. Of how you see me.” Then sheepishly, “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“Hm.”

“ _Hm_ , what?”

“Nothing. It’s just that you’re the first one to ever refuse.”

“Are there many others?” Jon raised an eyebrow, then he frowned adorably. “Should I be jealous?”

“Are you the jealous type?”

“ _Probably_.”

Sansa chuckled at that, shaking her head in a certain disbelief.

“You’re my first and only customer, Jon.” but she clarified with a smile, lighting another cigarette. “It was only my second night at the district when we met. My first night was nothing but a disaster. A young guy wanted to pick me up but I freaked out and ran away.”

“But you didn’t with me.” and then almost proudly, smiling despite it all, he asked. “ _Why?_ ”

She thought about it albeit already knowing the answer. “Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly.”

Sansa exhaled, her breath of smoke dancing in between them. “Because you looked like you also didn’t want to be there.”

He looked angry then, she remembered. And while the fear did not leave her as she climbed his car, Jon looked in that moment as if he was in limbo, as if confused, as if his mind was hazy; as if acting on impulse. If anything, it only made her think then that she could run away again.

“Can I ask?” asked Sansa now amidst her thoughts.

Jon nodded as he now sat up on the bed.

“Why me?” she blew another smoke, watching it spiral above. “Of all the girls there, why did you stop for me?”

His response was immediate; was sure. “You were a fish out of water. I told you, you don’t look like you belong there.”

“That’s all?”

“That, and you are the most beautiful.”

“Silly.”

He sniggered. But then after, he was silent with a thoughtful expression on his face.

After a while, “You said I’m a customer.” he murmured, moving to take his own pack from the side table and lighting a stick. He puffed then blew into the air. “Am I still just a customer then, _silly?_ ”

Sansa paused, about to take another lungful, but was taken aback by Jon’s words. She hoped he must already know he was more than a customer at this point. She probably cannot identify him yet with a single word but that in itself was reason enough for her to believe he was so much more.

A savior. A lover. A friend.

A boyfriend.

Could she be courageous enough to utter the words?

Sansa wanted to laugh. For who should make the first move, indeed? And how ironic too, to stress about such little things now compared to what laid for her outside his apartment door. She had wanted to say it, to at least create some common ground. But the fear did not leave her for was he the type to label such? Sure, he paraded her as his ‘girlfriend’ at the party some days ago, but it could be just for face. He cannot just go and tell everyone else she was a hooker, can he?

 _His hooker_ , Sansa still thought. But as she glanced back, Jon was still staring intently at her, waiting for a response.

“So?” he said after another puff.

“You asked me before what I wanted this to be,” Sansa finally replied. “Now I’m asking you back. What do you want this to be?”

“I want nothing from it except you.”

“No labels?”

He snorted. “Labels don’t mean anything.”

“And if people ask where we met?”

“At a party. On a warm night.” he stood up now, pulling the blanket with him to wrap around his waist and then crossed the room. He sat next to her on the window seat and tucked a few stray hairs from her face. He stubbed his cigarette stick on the ash tray only to retrieve the one in her hand, put it in his mouth, and inhaled.

“Gods you’re sweet, Sansa.”

Sansa took the cigarette from him; then a drag. “So, no labels?”

“No label can do justice, my lovely.”

He exchanged a kiss for the stick again, placing it in his mouth, taking another lungful.

He breathed out.

The smoke spiraled and enveloped them both.

“So, at a party,” Sansa insisted, watching him. “One warm night and then what?”

“I cannot get enough of you then.” Jon whispered, leaning closer, breathing her in as he handed back the cig and she exhaled another round of smoke. He scooted closer, feeling his hand on her leg, going up to her waist, then to her breast where his palm just fit so perfectly. “You were very irresistible that night. And then, you cannot get enough of me too.”

“What was I wearing?”

“A plain black dress. Sways with the wind as I took your hand and we ran away into the night. We went to the park and made out like some teenagers.”

Sansa laughed, his hand now on the nape of her neck. “And then?”

“And then I took you home. Right here in this room, and swallowed you whole.”

Sansa imagined it all, of how they would have run away from the crowded party to go to a secluded area where they were free to touch each other _anywhere_ ; to kiss, to imprint. She took the last drag of the stick and as she was about to exhale, Jon’s lips enveloped hers and it was possibly the most intimate thing they have done yet. The heat of their breaths and the smoke that scattered in their mouths resonated something deep within her. She felt his tongue move against hers as the bitter smoke tried to escape her lips and it was as if he was indeed swallowing it all. Wholly. The hand on her neck pulled her closer and another wrapped around her waist, allowing her to straddle him as the kiss did not end.

She felt it all in this moment; his tongue, his hands, his arms, his hardness right in her center. She wanted it, she cannot get enough of it. Sansa ran her hands through his hair and tugged; tightly, desperately, her tongue penetrating him deeply. Then, as he pulled the blanket away from his waist, he returned the favor, the ardor, entering her in one full stroke that she gasped in pleasure and murmured his name in measured breaths.

“Jon.” another gasp. “Oh, Jon.”

“Yes, my darling?”

“ _Don’t stop_.”

He laughed lightly as he held her closer. Then he buried his head on her neck as they continued to move with a rhythm so familiar. Outside, Sansa saw the night sky and the city lights almost blink in ecstasy with her. Then behind, there on the wall of the apartment, was a silhouette of their intertwined figures and of the endless movements they make.

It was like a cinema, a dance of shadows in the darkness, with the heavy, beating thumps of the music from the party below. Sansa wondered how they’d look like from afar. Two bodies that raced against each other, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, feeling almost on top of the world; invincible, incredible, _majestic_.

She didn’t want to say it then, no. Thinking there might be a more opportune moment to say it. But with his mouth still on hers, his hands clasping her tightly, his hips moving with such pace, it slipped. It slipped as she opened her mouth to breathe. The words flashed in her head for a while before she begun to utter it.

“I love you.” she said, eyes closed, head buried in his neck.

Then, without hesitation, she said it again.

 _I love you_ , _Jon_.

**

 

The thrill on his spine doubled as he heard the words. It consumed him the way he was consuming each part of her; the sweetness of her skin, the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her everything. He captured her lips with his again, taking in the words letter by letter, breath after breath.

She said it, _his brave girl_ , the words he’d for so long wanted to say but cowers at just the mere thought, for the fear of rejection, for the fear of not being able to have her.

The euphoria overwhelmed him he turned speechless. He was in shock. He hadn’t realized how utterly sweet those words can truly be.

Jon only kissed Sansa deeply then, tongue lashing, possessing; hands roaming. He re-entered her with a loud thump and she gasped again, wrapping her legs around his waist. He carried her from the window seat back to the bed, laying her gently and beholding the glorious scene in front of him.

 _Such beauty_.

He nudged her legs apart, lifting one to reach his lips for a kiss. Then he journeyed downwards, slowly, craving more and more of her as the seconds passed. The groan she uttered only sent another round of shivers down his spine that he can no longer wait.

He would not wait.

Jon pulled her hips to him, aligning himself right at her center.

And then, he began to devour.

**

“Are you happy?” he had asked her again, for countless times now. Sansa looked up to his figure as they lay in bed.

She wanted to say she would be more than happy if only he had responded to her words from earlier but the embarrassment lingered. Heavily, it didn’t go unnoticed to her that she was plainly, straightforwardly, and ultimately ignored. Sansa felt her cheeks redden again that instead of gazing, she turned away from Jon, whispering a small _‘yes’_ to sate his inquiry.

“Hey,” but he pulled her close to him nonetheless. “If you have to know, I am happy.”

“Then I’m glad.”

“Are you really?”

Sansa can only nod as he heard Jon sigh behind her. He ran his finger down her arms; up and down, up and down, until her skin prickled and he tried to smooth it away.

“Tell me something about your brothers.” Jon said then, leaning in closer as he wrapped an arm around her waist. They now both viewed the starless sky and the still awakened city. Sansa smiled despite the certain weariness.

“Bran and Rickon.” she murmured. “Their names are Bran and Rickon.”

“And the one you mentioned before, _Robb?_ ”

Sansa felt lonely at the mere mention of the name but utterly surprised and touched that Jon had remembered. “He died.” she said honestly, wincing at the sudden pain again. “In a plane crash, together with my parents and my sister, Arya.”

The silence took over and Sansa desperately wanted to turn around again just to see the look on Jon’s face in this quietness. But the fear enveloped her she only had her words to shield her.

Perhaps, she did not need his pity right now.

“I was supposed to be at that flight too.” she continued instead. “But I woke up late from Uni that I missed it. I remember calling my mother while I was still in the cab, telling her that I can just take the next flight, _that they can go on ahead without me_.”

Her chest tightened and the tears threaten to fall, realizing something once so vague was now slowly becoming so utterly vivid in her mind. “I didn’t know those words could mean so much.”

“ _Sansa_ —”

She heaved a breath, cutting him off. “After that, Bran, Rickon, and I were supposed to go to the Riverlands to live with Uncle Edmure but he said that he can’t accommodate us at all. He proved to the courts that he was just simply inept in taking care of us, especially of my young brothers. So the court sent us to the Vale instead, to live with my mother’s sister, Aunt Lysa, and her husband, Uncle Petyr.”

A snort came out of her. “They weren’t any better.”

“And your brothers still live with them now?”

“ _Yes_. That’s why I’ve been trying so hard to save up so I could rent out a bigger apartment and prove that I can take care of them.”

She felt him shift, tightening his hold on her.

“But you’re now the heir to the Stark Estate,” he said so with such unease. Sansa was not surprised that Jon knew all about his father’s enterprise. “Whatever happened to your family’s business?”

“It was all a blur after the accident,” Sansa tried to explain. “Everyone was trying to get involved, all of dad’s partners. My brothers and I were in therapy that it was Uncle Petyr who decided on behalf of the family. Apparently, we had several debts. I tried so hard to remain on top of it all but it was just overwhelming. That job was supposed to be for Robb. All of it. I was just supposed to be at the sidelines, cheering him on. I didn’t know what to do.”

And then, “Uncle Petyr had no other choice but to sell the estate to Bolton Holdings.”

It still sounded and tasted so bitter to Sansa, that she cannot even salvage what her family and ancestors have worked hard for in so many years—centuries even. All of it, gone, because she was too weak and too naïve to take charge.

She didn’t feel herself shake only when Jon held her tighter and nipped at her neck, murmuring senseless words to calm her.

“My mother died when I was thirteen.” but he said soon after, as if his own confession, leaning his head to hers. “ _Cancer_.”

“I’m so sorry.” Sansa was able to say amidst the silent tears.

“I am too.” he breathed. “I miss her a lot.”

“What did she look like?”

Jon laughed. “Like me. Dark curly hair, gray eyes. Long face.”

“A girl version of you?”

“Yeah.”

“And what about your _amazing_ father?”

“Non-existent until he had to come get me. I never met him before my mother died.”

“How did he find you?”

“The police found him. At first, I didn’t want to go. I’d rather stay at some foster home than pretend that all is well with me and him. But then I saw her.”

“Who?”

She felt his lips form a smile. “ _Elia_. Then I realized, I could have a mother in her again.”

“You love her.”

“I do, like I love my real mom.”

“That’s nice, Jon.”

He chuckled and kissed her neck. “But not as nice as this.”

**

 

She was still quiet beside him that it bothered Jon to no end. While he knew what could have possibly made her feel distant, he also didn’t know what to do about it.

It didn’t come as easily as he had hoped, as he had wished. The certain embarrassment ran through his brain for who the hell talked about feelings and whatnot in the middle of the night? Sansa had the perfect timing earlier, _gods_ , it was just perfect. If only he had taken the same opportunity, the words would have been uttered already.

And many times too.

Outside, the party at the pool deck felt as if it was starting to fade and Jon finally felt the lethargy. But it wasn’t until the echoes of soft music traversed to the apartment that he felt his heart lurch in the poignancy of this image of him right now; of holding Sansa in the dark, of looking out to the city lights, of the song that served as his background music.

Immediately, he felt like he could combust.

And then, perhaps, _this was it_.

For a moment there, he felt like he could cry, for as if the world had made it all come together, to create this one other perfect moment for him to utter the words to her.

 _This was it_.

So, he leaned in closer to smell her hair, always sweet and fruity, and then he whispered, as if not knowing of anything else to say or do but to keep on holding her for the rest of the night.

Surprising himself too, he can only request; he can only plead. The music still floating in the air.

“ _Dance with me._ ”

“Jon _._ ” Sansa stirred.

He almost pleaded again. “Just dance with me, Sansa.”

He pulled the blanket off of them and stood, clasping a hand on hers as she begrudgingly followed and away from the comfort of the bed. He chuckled at her certain disarray and of her wild hair that pointed everywhere but as always, she had never been anything but lovely.

Jon pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her waist and another to take her hand.

“I want this,” he murmured to her ear after a swift kiss; like an assurance, like a pledge, like a declaration. “Like as if we are the only two people in the world, in the quiet. I want this a lot.”

Because for all the euphoria that the morning brought, it was this intimacy he craved for; something that was quite wonderful but something that only dwelled in the night.

She snuggled closer, hiding her face from him but it did not matter one bit for as long as they continued to sway to the echoing music.

And then, he composed himself.

“Sansa?”

“ _Hm?_ ”

He smiled despite his nervousness, letting the words travel, finally. From the depths of his chest out to the tip of his tongue, to the smooth of his lips, to the release of his breath, he whispered; he promised, he swore.

He proclaimed to the world.

“ _I love you, too._ ”

 

 

* * *

 


	10. Between Solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa’s heart leapt with his words; with excitement, with fear, she was not even sure yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a while! I was so busy these past few weeks I only had time recently to write and update stuff. Anyway, hope you enjoy this! :)

The clacking and clicking of the keyboards and laptops welcomed Jon as he entered Targaryen Advertising, its gray and red cubicles enveloping him fully as he strode the aisle, ignoring the few and hesitant glances that came his way. He did not know what other folly occurred before he arrived, but the odd gestures of his employees told him something may be up with them again. Perhaps a broken printer or a drunk Edd Tollet roaming around. He was not sure. Only, he cared now for the cup of coffee in his hand and the brown pastry bag—that Sansa had prepared—on the other. 

They had been trying to fairly spend amounts of time in their respective homes, with his mostly used on the weekdays and hers on the weekends. While there was the temptation of asking Sansa to finally live with him, Jon was still unsure how she’d take it, especially now that he knew her priorities, her priorities that included taking back her brothers, first and foremost. He didn’t know how ‘settling down’ with him could make or break her chances at the courts. But that was a problem he was more than ready and excited to face together with her.

As Jon pushed the glass door of his office open, he immediately went to his desk and placed his breakfast neatly on top. He sat down to contemplate on what to do next, ignoring the temptation to call Sansa (again, as if they hadn’t just parted) knowing what already waited for her in the studio. He smiled at the thought. So instead, he turned to his laptop, finding several messages waiting for his attention. Some of which came from Sam, another from Podrick, and an urgent one from Rhaegar.

He clicked the one from his father. It was short and concise, asking him for a meeting later in the afternoon to welcome the new Head of PR. Jon wouldn’t lie but initially during the company’s search for a new hire, his thoughts went to Sansa immediately, remembering his offer of a new job when he pleaded for her not to go back to the district. Jon wasn’t sure what her experiences were with marketing and advertising but he realized it would probably be slim to none. If her beautiful artworks were any indication, she was an artist through and through. Head of PR may not be for her. Still, what he would not do for this girl?

Jon disregarded the message as he scanned through the others, taking note (finally), of his schedule for the day from Sam—who reminded him that he would be out of the office for some errands he, Jon, had instructed him to do the day before.

He smiled at that, remembering it all clearly; as he spoke over the phone; the warmth on his cheeks as he instructed Sam on what to do, the small chuckle his secretary made, then a certain sort of quiet embarrassment that ran through him but the image of Sansa coiled unto him, _naked_ , overpowered any other sappy discomfort this request made.

So _again_ , what would he not do for Sansa Stark?

He almost basked in the wonder again when the commotion outside his office interrupted his daydreaming. Through the glass walls, he could just see Rhaegar Targaryen walking in, leaving the entire company in slight panic for this surprise visit, more than so in his arrival earlier on.

Jon sighed and rubbed his head in annoyance, watching as Rhaegar trotted off to the adjacent room and gave him a slight nod in his wake. This will be a long day, he knew now unfortunately, knowing exactly that this visit would probably be about the new hire or worse, about Edmure Tully and the recent events of their meeting. Immediately, he felt the migraine coming that an escape from the office was all he intended to do now—and soon. He pulled his mobile phone out and dialed the number of an old friend.

“Tormund.” he said to the other line as it picked up.

“ _Well_ ,” a low chuckle. “ _If it isn’t small pecker calling_.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Think we could meet at lunch today?”

“Depends on what it’s for.”

Jon shook his head but knowing Tormund, this will be an easy thing. Scratching his beard, he swiveled his chair to face the cityscape.

“I need a favor.”

 

**

 

There was a huge vase of flowers and a box of pastry and sweets sitting at the teacher’s table at the corner of the art studio. Sansa stared at it for a few minutes before turning to the reddening Samwell Tarly—the person who delivered the items—but who was now also looking down at his foot.

The flower arrangement was exquisite, Sansa won’t lie. There were lilies and white roses, lavenders and all sorts of leafy plants that just made it all look so lush and fresh. The smell of the pastries also wafted in the entire expanse of the studio that she was sure the children, what with the snack on hand, would thoroughly enjoy their session today.

Sansa won’t deny too the tad bit of warmth that ran through her the moment Mr. Tarly crossed the threshold with all the gifts and the little card that accompanied it.

_Something to brighten up your day at work (or something to remind you of me, always).  - J.S._

It was all so sweet, there was no denying about it again too. But despite the notion, Sansa can’t help but roll her eyes at Jon’s certain display of grandeur.

 _Rich people_ , she can’t help but thought to herself. Turning around and folding her arms against her chest, she playfully asked Mr. Tarly, raising an eyebrow. “Has he always been a show-off?”

Mr. Tarly fidgeted but laughed. “No, Ms. Stark. To be honest, this is all so peculiar to me too.”

“ _Oh, really?_ ”

“Really.”

“No other woman of Jon has experienced this kind of attention?”

That seemed to take the secretary off-guard. He reddened even more. “I—I am sure there is no other woman!”

Sansa only had to laugh at the man’s loyalty. She decided, she liked him and his friendly features. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she tried to appease him. “Relax, good sir. I won’t tell if _you_ tell.”

“I swear there is no one!”

He gave her a panicked look, as if he had done something awfully wrong and finally ruined everything. Sansa bit her cheek to contain her own laughter at the man’s discomfort. Letting him out of his misery, she crossed the room towards the kids’ table and started to arrange their paint canisters and brushes, imagining already all the teasing she, on the other hand, would get from Jeyne once she arrived.

“I assure you, Ms. Stark,” but Mr. Tarly still insisted. “Mr. Snow is only seeing you, and quite obvious at that, as far as the entire office is concerned.”

Sansa felt her own cheeks flush for what kind of display had they done over at Targaryen Advertising to render such a conclusion? But in all honesty, it made her feel glad that at least, other people knew about them finally and that Jon had, perhaps, deliberately made it so.

“Well then, thank you again, Mr. Tarly,” she stood straight and smiled in return. “For bringing those gifts over. They’re lovely.”

“Oh, please, call me Sam.” he chuckled. “And it’s no bother.”

“Will Sammy attend the class today?”

“Oh, yes! He will be here shortly with my wife. I believe they are just finishing some errands now.”

“Great!” she clapped her hands. “I’m really happy to have him. Your son is really talented.”

“I’m so glad to hear that, Ms. Stark.”

She shook her head. “Sam, call me Sansa.”

“Well,” he smiled sincerely, pleased with this development. “Thank you, Sansa.”

As she gathered other materials to distribute among the soon-arriving children, in the corner of her eye, she saw Sam still fidgeting and looking almost petrified in his place beside the desk, as if not knowing what to do. In her mind, he should’ve been saying goodbye now and on his way to Jon for whatever job he still needed to do. Perhaps, join him for another meeting? Arrange his schedule? Sansa was not sure on the extent of Sam’s work but his silent demeanor, still gaping awkwardly at her studio, was something she knew was not part of his job description. Placing a hand on her hip, she inquired finally to release the man from his anxiety and her, from her curiosity.

“Is there something else you need from me, Sam?”

He looked up to her quickly, smiling sheepishly.

“Well, there is one more thing, Ms. Star—I mean, Sansa.” he stuttered. “Just one other thing that Jon wanted me—well, you see…”

Sansa only shrugged and nodded for him to continue.

“Err, I—uh, _well_ ,” Sam nervously chuckled again as he retrieved his smart phone from his pocket and started to scroll. “Well, Mr. Snow— _Jon_ —also wanted to know the soonest available date for you to go out of town?”

Sansa frowned, surprised at the request. “Out of town?”

“Y—yes,” he stuttered again. “For some sort of a vacation.”

“ _Some sort of a vacation?_ ”

Was there even such a thing?

“No,” Sam hurriedly corrected himself. “I mean, for _a_ vacation. A real no-other-meaning vacation. Just a few days out of the city.”

Odd, Sansa thought. Samwell Tarly didn’t strike her as someone so unsure and unknowledgeable with his secretarial work. Lying, on the other hand, was something perhaps she was sure he was not masterful at all.

Crossing the room once again but only seeing how that intimidated Sam further, Sansa nonetheless continued her interrogation. “Vacation? Does _he_ even have the time for that?”

“Yes, most definitely, I can vouch for that. I do all his schedules, you see—” Sam continued to blab on.

But Sansa took another step, making the other man back away almost in panic. “And where may I ask?”

Sam wiped the forming sweat from his forehead. “He wasn’t—well, he wasn’t very specific with it yet.”

“Really?”

“It’s another surprise!” he squeaked too soon.

But that too did not feel right. While certain words had already been uttered between her and Jon—and certain actions had been expressed wholly and fully during the night, a vacation out of nowhere was something Sansa did not expect at all most especially in the midst of her certain endeavor where she needed to work harder now that she had abandoned her stint at the district— _for him_. Surely, he must know how precious and important her time was with the studio. So, Sansa can only frown suspiciously, looking back to her table and at the abundance of all the lovely things that currently occupied it.

She pursed her lips, still staring cautiously at the flower arrangement until understanding finally dawned on her.

“This is what the gifts were for, isn’t it, Sam?” she turned to look at him, frowning. “To bribe me?”

“No!” he immediately clarified, waving his hand. “No, I don’t believe so!”

“Sam—”

“Please, Ms. Stark—Sansa! I don’t want to—”

“ _Where, Sam?_ ”

He looked so little as he whispered, not being able to look her in the eye. But the words spilled nonetheless. “To the Vale.”

Sansa’s heart leapt with his words; with excitement, with fear, she was not even sure yet. Then Sam continued on softly and now with a small appeasing smile on his face. “Won’t you like that, Sansa? Jon told me perhaps you’d like that.”

Sansa felt the lump in her throat as she veered away from him, turning back to the tables and carelessly rearranged the paint brushes and canisters. Behind her, Sam gently followed suit and asked, “And if you would just kindly give me your full contact details, I’d be happy to arrange the trip from here on.”

Sam continued to request other paperwork from her but she was already zoning out. There was a certain elation deep in heart for this prospect would allow her to see Bran and Rickon again. After so many months of failed attempts, here it was, right in front of her as if a miracle; as if it didn’t cost so much.

She wanted to hate and make love to Jon all at the same time; the swift way he handled and took care of her miseries as if just another bullet point he needed to accomplish. She did not question his sincerity but Sansa would not deny too the certain hurt this offer had made to her pride. It was all so easy if you had all the money in the world, wasn’t it?

“I don’t know, Sam.” Sansa confessed truthfully a little while after, gathering her wounded thoughts. She looked at him sadly. “It’s all too… grand.”

Sam only smiled. “He told me you’d say that.”

Sansa snorted. “Of course, _perceptive_ Jon.”

“Sansa,”

Silence occupied the room as Sam waited for another answer while she debated it in her head. She took a deep breath, now careful to not glance back at her full desk and to Sam who was still waiting patiently.

Sam broke the quiet with another set of kind words. “I’ve never seen Jon like this, Sansa. Trust me when I say that.”

Looking down, now the one feeling embarrassed by all this, she can only reply another truth, gesturing back at her desk. “I don’t know how to ever repay all of this.”

But Sam only chuckled lightly. “I doubt if he would even allow you too.”

Sansa looked at him, worry washing over her features. Now she fidgeted and can’t seem to find her composure and then faintly, she whispered. “That’s what I am afraid of.”

He nodded to her sympathetically, perhaps understanding her predicament. But then, a curious look suddenly plastered on his face.

“Actually…” Sam almost sounded delighted. “There is one thing you can do.”

Sansa frowned. “What?”

Sam only laughed. “Do you know what day is it today?”

 

**

 

The pub was quiet, only with the occasional yuppie coming in or out wearing elegant suits and ties; perhaps also trying to escape the concrete jungle of their corporate life. At the bar, Jon nursed a hard drink as he waited for Tormund to arrive.

The rest at Targaryen Advertising still gave him the odd looks as he walked out of the office door for lunch. When once before this bothered him to no end, today Jon cannot concentrate on anything else except for wanting to hear from Sam about his morning—and of Sansa’s reaction to everything they had prepared, hoping in his heart that she had said yes.

It was another leap of faith, he knew, asking her for a short trip to the Vale, knowing that she’d quickly understand what it was for. He can still clearly remember that night she talked about her brothers and of her certain longingness that pained him to his core he was wishing at the end of the night to be able to see Lyanna Snow too.

Sansa was alone, he knew that to be true, imagining a time and a space where they have not met yet and there was no one else— _no one_ —that she could rely on. He could not then stomach the vulnerability of the picture and the heaviness on his chest he needed to uncoil himself from her on the bed and take a few cigarettes by the window. Then, he instantly knew he hated the world for it.

For her loneliness.

So, realizing the immense want, and passion, and desperation he craved for the sake of Sansa’s undying happiness, he decided that night to not anymore wait for any permission or courtesy or second thoughts, ignoring too the curiosity in Sam’s voice as he pleaded for his help over their phone call.

“Are you sure that you want to do that? _Ask_ on that day?” his best friend had questioned then.

“Yes. What’s wrong with that? Would you not do anything for Gilly on any other day?”

The preparation was not tedious as Sam was more than capable to handle such. But the nervousness over the plan did not leave Jon for giving gifts and proposing impromptu vacation plans were something he did not do. That was not in his book. That was not in his senses at all.

But in reality, he laughed now as he sipped his liquor, anything sensible in his bones had flown and left him the moment he had drowned in those ocean blue eyes of Sansa’s that nothing else made sense except for her. Heavens forbid, and he hated to admit this, but this woman had him wrapped around her smooth, delicate fingers.

Tightly and solidly.

And he did not know if he ever wanted to let go. In his head, he knew he was an idiot for feeling so immensely for her—and if only Rhaegar can see him now panting over a girl from a dead, long-forgotten family, he’d have a heart attack. But what a sight that must be, Jon can’t help but console himself.

The bell on the pub’s door rang again and a loud chortle disturbed him from his thoughts. Turning, he saw Tormund Gianstbane grinning at him by the door, judging and mischievous at the same time.

“Well, well, well.” the large man crossed the room and into the seat next to him, pulling off his coat. “Jon Snow.”

“Tormund,” Jon clasped a hand on his shoulder. “It’s been months.”

“Months since the award show where you swept everything away from under my feet, you bastard.”

Jon chuckled. “I can’t help if I’m a better ad man than you are.”

Tormund snorted.

“So,” he asked Jon then ordered a beer over the counter. “Let’s get into it. I only have a few minutes. What’s this favor business you want to talk about?”

Jon grinned shamelessly. Now this. This was the second phase of his plan.

“There’s this artist.” he started to explain almost giddily, sloshing his drink. “I’ve seen her work and she’s fantastic.”

Tormund eyed him carefully, uncertain. “That’s good to hear?”

“It is, actually.” Jon affirmed. “And she is a hard worker. Dedicated, I can tell. I totally vouch for her.”

Then Tormund laughed loudly again that Jon had to wince. “Now I know where this is going.”

Jon persisted, leaning in closer. “You won’t regret this, Tormund.”

“I’m a boutique ad agency, Snow.” but the other man tried to explain. “What does your artist want to do with me when she can work for your firm?”

“She’s no ordinary artist, man.”

“Is she some Picasso or something?”

Jon only drank his scotch then grinned as he settled the glass back. It took a while before the notion sank, then Tormund’s eyes widen in delight.

“Gods almighty _, you’re fuckin’ her_ , aren’t you?” he roared and then laughed, taking a swig of his own beer.

“Don’t be so crude.” said Jon annoyingly yet there was still a smile on his face. “It’s more than that.”

The heavily bearded man raised an eyebrow and studied him at once. “So, you serious about her?”

“ _Yes_.”

No pauses. No second thoughts.

 _I love you,_ her words echoed in his ears again.

Then, his words too. _I love you, too_.

Tormund guffawed in disbelief, sensing something with his continued silence. “Holy shit!”

“Stop it, I said.” Jon groaned.

“Let me just immortalize this moment,” Tormund gestured a hand then placed it on his heart. “Young, handsome, and prolific no-I-don’t-believe-in-marriage-Jon Snow, has finally found his match.”

Jon only shook his head, drinking up the last of his scotch. Tormund still laughed beside him and clapped him by the shoulder.

“You, my dear boy, are now a man.” he announced.

“ _Shut up_.”

“Seriously,” Tormund chinked his beer bottle to Jon’s empty glass. “This is it. This is growing up. This is _growing some balls_.”

“Gods, Tormund.” Jon shook the hand off his shoulder as Tormund still hollered about.

“I’m telling you, you’ll love it man. Settling down, having some kids, live in the suburbs. It’s kinda’ liberating to tell you the truth. To have someplace— _to have_ _someone_ —to get away from it all. It’s glorious.”

“Is that what you always tell your wife?” Jon shot back.

But Tormund only exclaimed another laugh. “If you only know the things I tell my wife.”

“Seven hells, that is too much information.”

“You know how I love to make you feel awkward.”

“True friend, you are.”

Tormund sighed and nudged him playfully. “But what a sight this is. You and me. Started from the bottom and look at us, managing our own ad agencies.”

“My father’s agency, seems you’ve forgotten.” Jon corrected.

“Haven’t forgiven ol’ Rhaegar, then?”

Jon snorted. “He actually hasn’t asked to be forgiven yet.”

“ _Damn, son_.”

Jon ordered another round of drinks. “He’s in the office now, if you had to know. That’s why I wanted—no, needed—to get out.”

“So, it’s not just about the girl?” Tormund raised an eyebrow.

Then it did not feel right for truly, Jon conceded, “It’s always about this girl, Tormund.”

Another laughter rang through the bar. “And _today_ of all the days you decided on this, when you know I cannot say ‘no’ to you?”

Jon ignored this comment, wherever it came from, and only shook his head. “Admit it, you love me and you can never say ‘no’ to me, Tormund.”

“Touché.”

“So,” Jon asked after sipping from his fresh glass. “What do you think?”

“Well at least let me meet her, man.”

Jon can’t hide his grin, excitement overpowering him. He knew swaying Tormund would be an easy task. “That’s no problem. I’ll talk to her.”

“She lives with you now too, Snow?” the other man teased. “I haven’t seen that before.”

Pulling out some cash from his pockets to pay for their drinks, Jon felt the warmth run over his cheeks

“Well,” he replied coyly. “ _Not yet_.”

 

**

 

The entire office was dark when Jon returned. He stood frozen for a little while for the peculiarity of it all. Wasn’t it only two in the afternoon? Why was his entire staff missing? Slowly, he crossed the aisle, still wondering when out of nowhere, there in the farthest area of the floor, a loud boom echoed and a chorus of greeting welcomed him; the lights of the office also turning on instantly.

“ _Surprise!_ ”

A mass of people hurriedly walked towards him with poppers and party hats and wide grin on their faces. Podrick led them all with a large cake lighted with numerous small candles.

“Happy birthday, boss!” he exclaimed.

Jon stood petrified in the middle of the aisle as his employees gathered around him with Podrick shoving the cake right under his nose. The collective singing of ‘Happy Birthday’ ensued and Jon wanted to dig himself a grave right in that moment. He looked around for Sam, hoping for at least a friendly face to save him from all the attention, but he was not yet present. He didn’t want to prolong the agony any longer, with the staff’s singing ringing in his ears, he immediately snuffed out the candles (to everyone’s delight), and forced himself a smile and utter a small thank you.

Jon didn’t want to look ungrateful but his birthday just totally slipped out of his mind.

It was today, apparently.

When was the last time he did celebrate it?

Then to his surprise, Rhaegar stood amongst the crowd and silently walked towards him.

“Happy birthday, son.” he clapped him by the shoulder and nodded. But before Jon could even react at how uncharacteristically his father was acting, Rhaegar moved aside to let a blonde woman greet him.

“Hello Jon,” she announced, taking him by the arm and gripping it tight. “Won’t you welcome your new Head of PR?”

“ _Val?_ ” he sounded incredulous but neither his father nor Valerie acknowledged it. The euphoria continued around them. Loud music was now playing at the overhead speakers and food was being brought out.

Rhaegar cleared his throat. “I messaged you about the new hire, did you not receive it?”

Jon shook his head, forcing himself to lie.

“Well,” Rhaegar disregarded it nonetheless. “Who better than Valerie, am I right? She’d executed great work at Martell & Partners and she was looking for something bigger. And so, where else but here at the best agency in Westeros?”

“Thank you, Rhaegar.” said Val almost too demurely Jon thought it did not suit her. “I am truly looking forward to it.”

Jon was speechless. He was hammered two times over first with the surprise party and then this, having Valerie Wilde as his new Head of PR.

And he thought this day was going to be a good day.

“I know you have some history,” then Rhaegar just had to say it. Jon sighed and felt the irritation climbing up his neck. “But I am sure you two can work around it, won’t you say? Perhaps even for the better?”

Without another word, his father walked away from them and then back to his office, as finally delivering the final blow; perhaps his sole purpose for this day. But Val still stood by his side, looking down at her foot but Jon did not miss the smile on her face as if she was enjoying it too much.

“Why that look, Jon?” she then asked as she glanced his way again.

He did not reply.

“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?” she laughed, completely still able to read through him. “Your own birthday?”

Then after, she tutted, “So typical.”

Jon had no words. He just kept on looking around the office as the others celebrated; as they walk past where he stood to greet him, to offer some drinks and food. It was all too much he barely understood what was happening.

He saw Valerie closing the distance between them and he can only take a deep breath. _Why was she here again?_ But she held on to his arms and smiled, her red lips stretching almost so mischievously he wanted to get away.

“You might have forgotten, sweetheart, but did you think I did?” Then, to his surprise, Val gave him a swift kiss on the lips, pulling his chin down as she did.

“Happy birthday, Jon.” she almost said breathlessly. “I look forward to working with you again.”

Then she pushed a small box of cigar in his hands before winking and then sauntered towards the make-shift bar by the reception.

Jon still stood petrified, almost unknowing, and then felt a glass of drink being handed to him by one of the art directors. He drank it all in one gulp.

The afternoon went by almost so fleetingly Jon felt numb to his core, the alcohol running amok within his veins and his empty stomach. He could have left he knew, but with the entire office holding on to him like some revered god, he hadn’t seen a way out. He barely recognized, too, the people around him as the loud cheers continued even at the wee hours of the night. Only until Sam finally showed up, with concern written all over his face, that Jon realized it was way past everyone’s bedtime.

He can barely remember what had happened or of why his tie was missing, but he didn’t miss a beat when Sam insisted that he take a cab instead of driving the sports car, considering his wasted disposition. He remembered a small gurgle but was too disoriented to argue with his secretary further.

At the apartment, after the doorman kindly left him to fend for himself, the darkness instantly enveloped him—except for the light coming off from the television where the static danced on the screen. Slowly, Jon walked towards the living area, unmindful of his path but thinking almost too dedicatedly and passionately that he needed to turn off the goddamn light.

But he wasn’t remotely near the television when another sight disturbed his drunken peace. He blinked once. Twice. Then he felt like he could cry. He smelled of alcohol and sweat and air freshener and old bread; he lost his good tie and possibly some expensive cuff links; his hair was probably nesting some animal and his breath possibly smelled of one too. But then there, ever so lovely, waiting for him on his couch, sleeping so peacefully he wanted to bask in it, was the woman that only mattered in his world.

 _No_ , in this world.

Sansa, his beautiful Sansa.

She was like a cold splash of water to his lethargic and dizzy state.

He had wanted to go near her and kiss her senseless but his head still spun wildly he needed to lean on the couch to keep himself upright. Jon tried to balance himself after and decided to reach the kitchen for some water for his already drying throat. He promised himself that he would not wake her up no matter the somersaults his stomach was already making, wanting him to instantly barf.

Turning the lights on in this area of the apartment, he saw that the kitchen was a mess with flour and frostings covering the counter. Bowls were unwashed on the sink and an apron hastily dangled in one of the stools. He ignored this, still incapable of making sense of it all up until he opened the fridge.

Then his chest thrummed for there it was, breaking his heart all over again.

A smudged if not an awkward round cake sat in one of the shelves. Chocolate, his favorite. In the haziness of his mind he pushed himself to read what was written on it, curling and swerving at the surface. Slightly comprehending, he knew it only said something so little, something so minuscule, something he had already heard countless of times today. But this, this version meant so much.

 _Too much_.

Then he loved her for this; he loved her for her entire being. In her writing, he read it again, almost weeping as he stood gaping at the small, dear thing.

_Happy birthday, love!_

How had she ever known?

Looking back at the darkened living room, he saw her silhouette at the couch and felt warm and overwhelmed with the notion of her. Of Sansa. And then he thought:

 _Tomorrow_.

When he was thinking straighter and clearer. Where his words would not jumble and his actions were gentle and careful.

 _Tomorrow_.

He’d love her even more tomorrow.

 

 

* * *

 


End file.
